Golden
by blue and gold
Summary: —Fifteen–year–old Iki Hiyori is killed in a bus accident, chasing a boy no one saw and whom she does not remember; Yato, a minor god, has unwittingly found himself his new Shinki. - [AU]
1. Un(fore)seen

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami_.

* * *

_Chapter 01:_

_Un(fore)seen_

* * *

"I—" Yato declared. "—hate fucking cats." He fisted the flyer in his hand and threw it to the ground. It bounced, landing on the curb.

He had looked through the whole city—the whole _damn_ city, and there was no cat to be found. Handing out posters—calling for the thing, looking at every feline in the Tōkyō metropolitan area. And still, no Ūe-sama. (—Not to mention, that was a stupid name for a fucking _cat_.)

He would give up, but the kid had already given him his money—and there was no way in _hell_ Yato was giving it back. (It was a matter of pride—and greed; but mostly pride. He was a _god_; he wasn't going to lose to a stupid–ass _cat_ .)

Yato fisted a hand in his hair, throwing his leg out to kick a lamppost. "Shit!" He yelped, grabbing his sneaker. "That _hurt_!" _Stupid post. Stupid cat. Stupid_—

A passerby—a busy looking man with a gold Rollex and a briefcase—kicked the paper, knocking it into the gutter.

"Hey," Yato called, hand still clutching his foot, "Hey, I needed that!"

The man did not notice him.

* * *

Hiyori peered at the poster. "Ūe-sama," she read, aloud.

"What's that?" Ami asked, looking over her shoulder, glasses glinting. "That's such a weird name. So ugly. There really are people that call their pets crazy things."

"What are you talking about?" Yama scoffed. "You gave your dog a painful name, too. Like 'Leader of Zenny's'." She teased.

Hiyori was barely listening—she brushed her hand against the paper.

"Don't call it painful! Shīna is my husband!" Ami cried. Then, she added. "He was so cool on yesterday's news station."

"I watched that," Yama said, "but _Hyakki Yakkō_ was definitely better."

"What's so good about _Visual Kei?"_

"That goes for you, too! What's so good about _Zenny!"_

"Hey…don't bad mouth _Zenny_! _Zenny_ is a god!"

"_Hyakki Yakkō_ is a god!"

_He's been gone for two weeks,_ Hiyori noticed, her fingers lingering on the flyer. _And he's still just a kitten._ She frowned, tugging her scarf more snugly around her neck. Tōkyō was big—and there were a lot of things bigger than a cat, too. She glanced behind her, watching the traffic blare by, the buildings towering above, the people passing her. How could a little cat survive by itself…?

"—Hey, Hiyori!" Ami called, stomping her foot on the pavement.

"—Which one do _you_ think is a god?" Yama snapped, tilting her hips to the side.

Hiyori turned, letting out a nervous laugh. "Even if you ask me…" _I can't answer that._

She bit her lip. _Because, to me, there's only one god—! Tōno-sama._ She remembered the match, the announcer, the trap, the kick—jungle savate! _The composure that allowed him dodge his opponents constant furious pinning moves, to use that sudden kicking technique from that bad position—! And not to be bothered by his bleeding! _And_ it was the last round and his opponent was tired—but, to see through the opponent's technique is just—_godly_!_ She breathed.

Then, she bit her lip. —_But, I should hold back on my hobby._

"Ah, sorry," Yama snorted, rolling her eyes. "My bad for asking you."

Ami laughed. "She is a closet martial arts fan, after all."

_—Then again, am I really hiding it?_ Hiyori thought, exasperatedly. _—Well, I haven't even told my parents. If Okā-sama found out about my hobby she'd say how 'savage' it was._ She cringed, imaging it—a hysterical rant consisting of the phrases 'you're a girl' and 'decent lady' and 'find a wonderful husband'.

Hiyori rolled her eyes. _Okā-sama is too old school._ She sighed. _Besides, I don't even have anyone I like…_ She turned her head, looking down the street.

* * *

Yato walked down the busiest avenue in the shopping district—for what had to be the _gazillionth_ fucking time—flier in hand. He glanced behind him, and—

—_Well, that's something new._ Yato couldn't recall the last time someone had looked _at_ him and not _through_ him. (Though, she wasn't too bad looking, herself; a high-schooler, probably.) _Still, it's always at times like this that I'm noticed._

He took a deep breath, cupping his hand around his mouth. "Ūe-sama!" He called. "_Ūe-sama!"_ He blushed. _Even for me—who's a fuckin' spirit—this is embarrassing!_ "Ūe—" _Even if I am unnoticeable!_ "—Ūe-sama!" Yato hollered. _No matter how easily I fade into the background!_

He sighed irritably, bringing up the flier to look at it closer. _First of all, _he thought, _the only difference between cats is their patterns! Can't I just find a different one…?_ Yato turned, looking to his left. There it was—a cat on a bench. _Hm. This one looks 'bout the same size. The patterns the same, too—_

* * *

Hiyori sighed, burying her chin farther into her scarf.

Yama and Ami were walking a few meters ahead, talking about _Hyakki Yakkō_ and the evening news. _Ah… I wonder what's for dinner tonight? Ooh, I hope it's __tsukune__._ She licked her lips, then frowned._ But, I'll have to finish early if I'm going to see Tōno-sama's match in ti—_

_"Ūe-sama—!"_

Hiyori looked sharply over her shoulder. It took her a moment to see it—

—The street, a boy, a cat, a bus.

It took her less than that to react.

* * *

"—Hey! Wait!" Yato called—after that _stupid_ fucking feline—his body jarring every time his feet hit the ground, _"_Stop_—_running!" He hollered, out of breath.

He didn't hear the horn of the bus, (didn't see it, 'cause it didn't really matter, 'less it squashed the cat).

And Yato didn't notice the girl, the _stupid_ girl, 'til she had knocked him over, out of the road, onto the sidewalk. His knees and wrists scraped against the tarmac, and he could feel the sleeves of his jersey tear.

_—the fuck?_ His legs _ached_, and Yato was pretty sure that, somewhere, he was bleeding. (And that dumbass cat was already gone, of course.) He turned, ready to bitch at whatever idiot would be _stupid_ enough to run in front of a bus—'sides him, of course—when he saw—

"—_Hiyori! Hiyori?!"_

The girl was sprawled on the pavement, in front of the bus. The fringe of her bangs was matted against her forehead with—_blood_.

_Shit,_ Yato breathed, still sprawled on his elbows and knees. _Shit, shit, _shit. He felt the panic beginning to swell, along with that telltale battlefield–patented rush of adrenaline. His fingers trembled, so he curled them into his palms; then, they began to shake, too, so he slammed them against the pavement.

"_Hiyori?!"_

She was _bleeding_.

She wasn't moving.

Her—Her chest wasn't moving.

_No,_ he thought. _No fucking way. No way in _hell.

"—_Oh my god, Hiyori!"_ One of the girls—short blonde hair, even shorter skirt—was pulling at her coat, fingers trembling. "Hiyori, Hiyori—_Hiyori_—!"

_No._ He prayed to the gods—someone other than him or Kofuku, for fuck's sake—and hoped for a little, no, a lot, of luck. _Just, please, please, please. _Please. He such his eyes tight.

"_Hiyori_—Hiyori, Hiyori, _please!"_ Gods, that girl was annoying. Couldn't she realize that that girl—that _Hiyori_—was already—?

Yato opened his eyes.

Across the concrete, through the crowd of people surrounding the accident—he saw it, what no one else could: a small, brilliant ball of light, rising from the girl's body. Then, it hovered over her, staying.

_The girl's spirit._ He realized.

"Shit." Yato breathed, lying on the ground. "Shit, shit, _shit_." His throat felt tight. He felt sick, too, like he did that time he ate that onigiri he found by a dumpster; only, this was about a thousand times worse.

(But, still, he wasn't stupid—contrary to wait a lot of people said. Spirits were food for the ayakashi; it was the way of the world, and that girl would be good as gone by nightfall, unless—)

Unless—

Yato stared, and thought, _You're a fucking idiot,_ at himself, at the girl, and then, at himself again. Then, he thought, _I hate my life._ But… It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? —No, no, there was no right way. The girl'd been _killed_. She'd gotten hit by a _bus_, because of him, and—there was no undoing that. He'd killed a girl. He'd actually—

Yato bit his lip. _Don't think like that_. He told himself.

Still… It was—It was the best thing to do in a _bad_ situation. It wasn't atonement, or making amends, but it was— It was better than nothing. It was better than letting her turn to an ayakashi, like the rest of them. It was the only _good_ thing to do.

To make this girl his Shinki, in return for her lost life.

Yato scrambled to his knees, which hurt like hell, and then, stood. _I must look like an moron,_ he thought, then: _no, I am an idiot_. But, still, no one saw him—a boy, on the sidewalk, looking on.

(And then—then the world seemed to slow down a bit; the people, the voices, the sirens, the whole city itself. But it was always like that, when you—)

"You," he breathed, his hands trembling and his voice shaking, "who have nowhere to go and cannot pass on. I'll give you a place to stay. My name is 'Yato'." He tried to steady his voice, but couldn't. Instead, he raised his hand, forefinger and center finger pointing. "Lingering here, gripping thine true name… I make though mine servant with thine alias… Thy name is follower, thy vessel is sound… Obey mine order and become my Shinki. Thy name is—"

* * *

_A/N: So, a lot of this chapter was background, and quoted from the manga—still, I wanted to set the tone and mood of the story._

_Also, I know, I'm terrible for putting in a cliffhanger this early on! _;)

_Index:_

**_Ayakashi_**_ are sort of like 'bad spirits'; different from demons, but similar to ghosts, I suppose. (Japanese spirit-ology is hard to translate to English, anyway.)_

**_Tsukune_**_ is sort of like teriyaki beef sticks, if you've had that before._

**_Onigiri_**_ are rice–shaped triangles filled with vegetables, fish, or meat!_

**_Okā-sama_**_ is a _very_ formal way of saying 'mother'._

_Anywho, first chapter! Tell me what you think of it! _:)


	2. Unmemorable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami,_ (or _Inception_).

* * *

_Chapter 02:_

_Unmemorable_

* * *

The first thing she was aware of was the smell of something _bad._

_Garbage…?_ She opened her eyes and, once the bleariness had cleared, she could see trashbags, stacked against a wall, pushed against a dumpster. _Gross._ She crinkled her nose, bringing up a heavy hand to pinch her nostrils together. "E—Ew…" She muttered.

"—You're finally up, eh?"

—Then, the haziness cleared up.

She shot up, scooting onto her rear–end. "What— Who—?" Then, she turned her had, looking up _sharply_ at a—

—A boy. He was normal–looking, sort of, with black–blue hair and a jersey, and _very_ blue eyes; but he couldn't have been much older than her, and she was only—

Wait. How old _was_ she? _My birthday_. She thought. _When's my_…

She didn't know.

_My parents?_

Nope.

_My house?_

No.

_Friends?_

Nothing.

She felt panic begin to whirl throughout her—this was _very_ wrong. People knew who their family were, where they lived, what they did, how _old_ they were. People knew who _they_ were. But she—

She didn't know.

_But I should._ She thought, and she felt scared, confused, and like she didn't know _what_ to feel. _I should know._

"Careful; thinking 'bout it all at once'll give you a killer headache."

She looked at the boy, wide–eyed and frightened. Then, she realized—she didn't know how she _got_ here, either. Or— "Who are you?" She blurted.

He shot her a lazy look, and then grinned, cat–like and cunning. "I'm the Yato god." He said, easily.

_God?_ "_God?"_

"Yeah, y'know," he drawled, lifting one of his hands, fingers curled, to inspect his nails for dirt. "Prayers, offerings, shrines, divine wrath—the whole package."

"A god." She repeated, the words bouncing around numbly in her _very_ empty head. "A _god_." It wasn't right—this guy was _crazy_, had to be, because gods—

"—don't exist?" Suddenly, there was an arm slung around her shoulder, and a voice in her ear. "Oh, to the contrare."

She let out a yelp, and—on instinct, since that was all she had—she reached behind her, grabbing at his jersey, before lifting and flipping the boy over her head, and onto the ground. Then, she stared. _Where did I…?_ She couldn't remember taking fighting classes.

"_Ow…"_ He—_Yato,_ she reminded herself—groaned, rolling to his stomach, then, to his knees. "What the _fuck_?"

"How—" She blurted. "—How did you _do_ that?"

"Do _what?"_ Yato whined, still on the alley floor.

"That— You were by the _wall_, and then—then you were _behind_ me, and how—how did you—?" She took a step back.

Yato looked up at her, and there was something serious to it. "I told you," he said, grunting as he stood, brushing off his pantlegs. "I'm a _god_. It comes with the territory."

"No—" she breathed. "No way. That can't—"

—Then, he was gone from her sight…and a few meters ahead, at the mouth of the alleyway. He glanced back at her. "—happening? Newsflash, it kind of is." Then, he added, "But, I'm kind of hungry—so, can we save the mind–boggling _Inception_ moments for _after_ we have lunch?" But he didn't seem to really _care_ about her answer, because he was already heading out, towards the street.

(At the mention of food, her stomach grumbled and her mouth watered.) But for a second, she hesitated.

And then, she decided, on gut feeling—because, really, what _else_ did she have?—that this…_whatever_ he was was better than nothing. "Wait," she called. "I'm coming." She jogged up to him.

"Thought so," he replied, easily, hands tucked into his pockets.

She was at his side, then, and she looked up at him briefly, wearily. "If— If you're Yato," she repeated, simply, at him, "then, who am I?"

He looked at her from the corner of his eyes, his irises gleaming. "You're Kiyone."

* * *

_It's not a lie, _he decided, _but, shit, it isn't the truth. But, it's not a lie. It's like a…quasi–truth._ He looked over at her—she was eating her hamburger with zeal. _Being reborn takes a lot out of you, I guess,_ he thought. Yato took another French–fry and threw it into his mouth.

After the shit had hit the fan at the crime scene, he'd decided that he was probably best to have the girl…well, _not_ be reborn when her body was still warm on the ground. (And, that'd been a pretty good idea, admittedly.) So, he'd teleported them to a dumpster–alleyway, (which had been a…less good idea), and then, well—he was hungry. So, he'd taken her to the diner and they'd eaten, and it turned out that food _was_ the only way to bond with someone, 'cause they girl'd mellowed out pretty well.

—Of course, there was the problem that he had, well, kind of _killed_ her. And he hadn't really…_told_ her about that, yet; but to be fair, she kind of had a lot on her plate, what with being reborn 'n' all, so… Maybe it was for the best.

(It turned out, he realized, that a lot of the things he was doing were for the best, lately.)

He glanced across the both and saw that she was looking at him. She chewed a few times, swallowed, and set her burger down on her plate. "You know," she began, awkwardly. (Post–rebirth jitters, he guessed; but the heaviness had started to come out of her look, so.) "Yato-san… Despite looking like a jersey–wearing–hobo, you're a…a nice guy."

"_Hey,_" Yato snapped. "Don't insult the god feedin' you."

"I wasn't _trying_ to insult you," she said, "it was just the best compliment I could think of."

"That was _not_ a compliment." Yato groused. "That was a thinly–veiled insult."

"Sorry…" Kiyone said, with a light smile. Then, she tapped her chin with her forefinger, like she was trying to figure out how to tackle a really hard calculus equation. (_Wait,_ Yato thought. _Did she even live long enough to _take_ calculus?_ —Then, he decided to drop it altogether, since the thought was pretty depressing.) "Yato-san," she asked, carefully, thoughtfully, "are you really a god?"

Yato, halfway between finishing a swig of his beer, choked. He let out a spluttering cough, "What the hell kind'a question is _that?_" He asked. "'_course_ I'm a god!"

Kiyone looked at him doubtfully. "I've never heard of the Yato god…" She said.

Yato curled his lip. "Just 'cause you've never heard of it doesn't mean it isn't real." He said, shortly. He took another French–fry, chewing on it harshly. He slouched in his seat.

She let out a laugh.

"What?" He grumbled, fry sticking halfway out of his mouth.

"You look like a pouting two–year–old." Kiyone laughed, again. She took a sip from her Cola. (Yato decided very firmly that she was a lot better when she was happy, as opposed to…well, death–depressed.)

"I _was_ pouting," Yato said, sobering up and straightening in his seat. "But I'm hardly two."

Kiyone peered at him. "How old _are_ you?"

Yato paused. "I can't really remember." He admitted, taking another French–fry and eating it with deliberation. "A few centuries, I guess—technically, though, I'm immortal."

Kiyone gawked. _"Immortal?"_ She breathed.

"Yeah." He nodded. "Gods are reincarnated, every time we die. Then, we grow, just…" he swirled the beer in his container, making it fiz, "_really_ slowly."

She looked at him. "How slowly?"

"I think a couple of decades of physical aging for you are equivalent to a year of growth for us." He said.

Kiyone _stared_.

"What?" He asked, sipping from his drink. "It's true—'sides, you shouldn't be so shocked. You won't age at all."

She blinked. "—Wait, _what?"_

Yato looked at her. She was surprised—a little scared, too, and he couldn't blame her. It was one thing to die, but it was another thing altogether to wake up as something else entirely. "You're a Shinki." He said, slowly. "You live at the age you die at."

"—Die?" She breathed. She raised her hands to her face, looking at them intensely. "I'm…dead?" Then, she pressed her index and center fingers to the side of her neck. "—But I have a heartbeat."

Yato leaned back in his seat. "You _were_ dead—in the human sense. But, your spirit always remains. Yours became a Shinki, as opposed to an ayakashi." He took a bite out of another fry. It was cold, but he ate it, still—no sense in wasting good food.

"'Ayakashi'?" Kiyone breathed. Her eyes—pink, he noticed, and wondered why he hadn't before—were wide. "You mean, they're real?"

"'course." Yato said. "Gods are real, after all."

"Right." She said, numbly. "Right." Then, she blinked. "But—what did you mean, 'as opposed to'? You mean, I could've become…" She rubbed faintly at her chest—where, in fuchsia, 清, was marked down upon her skin. Yato wondered if she had even noticed it, yet. "An…ayakashi…?"

"Still can, technically." Yato nodded. "When a person passes on, there spirit remains—eventually, if not turned into a Shinki, it can be taken over by other baddy–spirits, and will become corrupted 'til…" He shrugged. "Well, you get it." Then, he looked at her, hardly. "But that can _still_ happen. Shinki, if they fall to their old ways, can become ayakashi, too. Though, generally, their masters'll realize it before it gets to that point…"

Kiyone shook her head, abruptly. "You—You say it all so… I don't even _know_ what a Shinki is. What _I_ am." She murmured, before looking up at him. "And what's 'old ways' even mean? And 'master', and…" She shook her head, again.

(Yato felt bad for her. More than he had before, anyway—and that had been pretty bad to begin with.) "Your human ways." Yato explained, easily. "Greed. Gluttony. Lust. Wrath. The basic no–no's of western theology." He said. "And you—Shinki—are, like you know, the spirits of people who are taken in as a god's servant."

"A god's—" Kiyone blinked. "I'm your _slave?"_ She looked indignant, at that; good—a little fire in 'em was always nice.

"No." Yato said. "But that'd be nice…" Then, he shook his head. "But, no. All you are is… Well, you're more like my right hand man…or…" he took a look at her. "…spirit–woman, I guess. You help me with stuff. Like with completing requests. And," he added. "Killing ayakashi."

"'Ayakashi'," She repeated. "I—I'm going to help you…kill…ayakashi." She looked shell–shocked; and scared.

But, there was no sense in lying. "Yeah." He said. "If it's a request."

"Request…?"

"I'm a sort'a…'jack of all trades', you could say." Yato spread his hands. "I do odd jobs, 'n' stuff, for five yen a piece." He grinned lazily.

"Odd jobs." Kiyone repeated. "For only _five _yen a piece…?"

"Ye_p_." Yato popped, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.

"B—But that's so…so _cheap!"_ Kiyone yelped, leaning forward, over the booth table. "How do you _live_—_where_ do you live? How—How am _I_ going to live?"

"Relax." Yato waved a hand at her. "I've got _tons_ of places to stay."

* * *

"_This_," she snapped. "Does _not_ count as a place to stay."

Yato rolled his—pretty, and blue; but she was _mad_ at him, she reminded herself—eyes. "It's a place. And we're staying here. Hence: place to stay." He flopped down on the bench, crossing his arms behind his head and his legs over each other.

"It's a shrine!" Kiyone shrieked, throwing her hands in the air at the building. (The shrine was big—all high rafters and articulate bamboo screens.) "It's—It's not even _your_ shrine!" Then, she looked at him, doubtfully, "Do you even _have_ a shrine?"

"—That's in the works."

"So, no, then." She put her hands on her hips. Oh, she was _so_ angry, so—so _angry_— "You're nothing but a—a hobo!"

Yato let out a yelp, gripping the back of his neck. "I am _not_." He snapped. "I'm a _freelancer_."

"No, you're a hobo!"

"Freelancer!"

"Hobo!"

"Freelancer!"

"Hobo!" Kiyone shouted, stamping her foot. _I must look like I'm crazy—but, no, no one can see me._ And that made her even _angrier._ She narrowed her eyes.

Yato clapped a hand to his neck. "_Stop_ that." He groused.

"Stop _what?"_ Kiyone snapped.

"—Just…" Yato sighed, closing his eyes. He looked _very_ tired, then. (_Could gods even _get_ tired?_) "Just…" he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Cool it."

Kiyone, then, felt it drain out of her, too: the anger, the confusion—and there was a _lot_ of both—and some sadness, too. But then, all she felt was _tired_. She wanted to curl up into a ball, and sleep her (apparent) lifetimes away. Her shoulders slumped. "Sorry." She mumbled, trudging over, to the bench opposite Yato's.

"'s no problem." He muttered, a hand covering his eyes. "Just, try to rest, 'kay? We gotta lot of jobs to do, tomorrow."

Kiyone didn't know what he even meant by that—ayakashi slaying, cleaning someone's gutters, or walking their pet dog? Either way, it didn't sound like much fun. She sat on the bench, and sighed. "Alright." She said. Then, she lay down, feeling as uncomfortable and awkward as someone could on a slab of wood. Kiyone curled into a ball, resting her forehead against her knees, with her legs tucked against her chest. Still, it was cold, and she felt her toes tremble—she curled them in.

And then, she tried to sleep.

* * *

_A/N: Nearly _twenty_ reviews for _one_ chapter. You guys are rockstars! (And also, a thanks to my anonymous readers, and those who have favorited and followed this story!)_

_So, chapter two! I hope all of you liked it, (and Hiyori's new name). There was a lot of arguing about it, both amongst you readers and myself! But, I decided to rule authenticity over practicality, this time. All Shinki have a sort of 'theme' to their names; Vaisravana / Bishamonten's end in '-ha' and Yato's end in '-ne'. So, Hiyori's new name is 'Kiyone'! (I wanted something that was cute, but befitting, too; so, I hope you like it.)_

_Index:_

_**Ayakashi** are bad spirits, essentially._


	3. Unnoticeable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami,_ (or _Kiki's Delivery Service_).

* * *

_Chapter 03:_

_Unnoticeable_

* * *

Work, as it turned out, _wasn't_ much fun.

A week or so had passed since she'd taken on the not–so fun role as Yato's Shinki–woman–servant. The day after her employment—enrollment? Enlistment? She wasn't sure—they had raided the homeless shelter clothing bins. ("We _are_ homeless, as you like to point out so often," Yato had said, smarmily, "so, this is for _us_, too"). Then, they had gotten some quick breakfast on the fly and went straight to their tasks.

(That had been the cycle for the next few days—probably the rest of her life, she bet dismally.)

Still, it wasn't _that_ bad. Kiyone didn't mind doing her job—most of them had been pretty good, so far. (Really, she could do chores, like cleaning peoples dishes or their gutters, or vacuuming or mopping).

But chasing after peoples' missing pets was _less_ fun.

Like, a _lot_ less.

She jogged down the street, flyer in hand, breath coming out in puffs in the November air. "Ūe-sama!" She hollered, hand cupped around her mouth. "_Ūe~-sama!"_

She'd searched _everywhere_—and that was a _lot_ of places, in Tōkyō—and she just _hadn't_ been able to find that cat!

—Then, there was a crackle of static.

"_Super–God Yato to Kiki–Cat—have you located the Hell–Spawn?"_

Kiyone frowned, stopping at the corner between two streets. Vehicles blared by, and the pedestrian traffic was constant. She pulled the walkie–talkie out of her jersey pocket. (She'd taken it with extreme distaste when Yato'd handed her it—a _navy_–er copy of his own jersey. How he'd managed to find it, amongst the dozens of piles of clothes, she didn't know, but she chalked it up to another one of his [few] godly gifts.) Then, she put it to her mouth. "_Kiyone_ to _Yato_—you barely qualify as a god, you know; and what's a 'Kiki–Cat', anyway?—and, _no_, I have not found the _kitten_ yet. It isn't a _hell–spawn_, either." She spoke into the walkie–talkie.

(Yato had given them to her—again, where from, she wasn't sure—before she'd left the store they were watching for a client, that morning. "You look for that demon–cat; I'll keep an eye on the place." He told her, feet kicked back on the counter as he sat in his chair. Kiyone thought he was just being lazy.)

_"Super–God—because I _so_ am—Yato to Kiki–Cat. Have you ever seen _Kiki's Delivery Service?_"_

Kiyone's eyebrows furrowed. "No, but—what's that got to do with anything?"

_"Nothing." _Yato muttered, across the line. _"It's just the greatest piece of cinema to grace the earth since, like, _ever_."_

She rolled her eyes. "I bet. _Anyway,_ what do you want me to do?" She looked around, through the crowds of people and cars. "I'm in the…" she peered at a sign, "…shopping district. I've already looked around, and I _still_ haven't found him. Should I go to the financial district?"

The line was just static, for a moment. "Shopping district?" Yato said; and, she wondered if it was just her, but he sounded sort of…choked up.

"Yeah." Kiyone frowned. "Is there something wrong with that?"

"No." Yato said, with an easiness that screamed _tension_. "Nothing. Just…come back to the store, I guess."

"Yeah…" Kiyone agreed, but something had already caught her eye—it was a streetlight across the road; by it, dozens of bouquets of flowers were piled, tied together with pretty ribbons. She frowned, slightly. "Funny, I— I sort of feel like I've been here before…" she murmured.

Yato was _very_ quiet for a moment, before his voice came back again. "Maybe." He said, vaguely. "Just—get back to the shop, 'kay?"

Kiyone nodded. "Sure." She said, faintly, and the line went out.

* * *

By the time she got back to the shop it was almost lunchtime. (Her grumbling stomach told her so.) She rounded the corner to the convenience store—_Yasui's Easy–Go Goods—_and smiled. There would be _food_—_real_ food, too; not vending machine snacks or _stand_ food. Kiyone grinned happily, and skipped towards the store.

She was about to pull on the door—

—And then it _burst_ open. A busy, burly looking man rushed out, holding a newspaper and a cup of—

"—Coffee!" Kiyone yelped, jumping back just as the man's elbow jostled her, his Styrofoam cup tumbling to the ground and hot liquid splattering across the pavement.

—_And_ on her new, (well, sort of new; it was the thought that counted), sneakers.

Kiyone couldn't help her frown.

"O—Oh, I— Ōjo-san, I'm _so_ sorry!" The man prattled on, bending down to retrieve his cup. He looked at her. "I didn't mean to— I didn't even notice you! I'm so sorry!"

Kiyone pulled a smile. "It—It's alright," she told him; and it was. They were just shoes, and it wasn't his fault that he couldn't really_ see_ her. (Yato had told her about that, after a hotdog vendor had ignored her for five minutes, 'til she had finally tapped his arm and asked, again, for her food.) "No harm done."

He looked at her, guiltily. "Still, I—I'm so sorry, Ōjo-san."

"Not a problem." She repeated, scooting past him, to the door. Then, she said, "you have a good day, though, Oji-san,"

"—I—I will! And I'm sorry!"

Kiyone nodded, just as the door shut behind her. She sighed, looking down at her speckled sneakers and the scuffed tiled floors. "_Yato!"_ She called with a sigh.

There was a brief moment, then: _"Yeah?" _He hollered, from somewhere in the storage room.

"Where're the wipes?"

* * *

Kiyone slouched against the counter.

It was evening, but it _still_ wasn't closing time. All she really wanted was to go to sleep; but she couldn't even do _that_ comfortably, since all they could go back to was some ol' shrine and bench. Not to mention, she'd had to walk around all day with her shoes _reeking_ of coffee; and she didn't even _like_ decaf.

Then, there was Yato—but he was a whole _other_ problem. (He was annoying just fine on his own, she figured; but if you added a red–and–white pin–striped uniform and a cap, he was _unbearable._ And he'd started to call himself 'Manager Yato', which she bet was just to annoy her. And, well, it was working. She was close to—)

—There was a terrible _crash_ and Kiyone felt herself jump a meter in the air. She looked around wildly—_what happened?_—and was sort of worried, 'til she saw Yato hiding behind an aisle. And, well, it didn't take her too long to figure out what had happened.

He'd stacked a couple dozen cans of soup—

—Only to knock them down in the process.

Kiyone let out a loud sigh, coming out from behind the counter, her glare wrathful. She bent down next to the aisle, amongst the bundle of soup cans that were spread across the floor.

"I swear to God—" She muttered.

"_—Yes?"_ Yato peered out from behind the next aisle, eyebrows waggling.

"Not _you!"_ Kiyone shouted. Then, she grabbed the thing nearest to her—a package of pocky; the soup can might've left a dent in his _stupid_ skull—and threw it with all her might; it sailed through the air, before smacking Yato right in the face.

"No!" He shrieked, crouching. "Don't damage the goods!"

"_Oh,_" she scoffed, hands on her hips, "I'm sure the snacks are _just_ fine!"

"I meant _my_ goods!" Yato cried.

Kiyone felt herself getting _angrier_ and _angrier_, and—and _gods,_ he was just such an _moron_—she let out a furious huff, before turning on her heels and stalking out of the store.

* * *

The streetlights were turning on when he closed up. (Really, the girl was lucky that she'd left 'bout thirty minutes before closing time—any more, and he would've taken her paycheck. Then again, he didn't really _pay_ her—but she didn't need to know that.)

Yato sighed, glancing left and right, down the street. No sign of her.

"Fuck," he declared, before deciding to head straight—it seemed like the smartest choice to go, for someone who was in a pissy mood and, well, not very smart.

Then, he started walking.

* * *

He was _such_ a moron.

Kiyone huffed, shoving her hands into her pockets. She trekked down the street and kept her head tucked down. (She didn't know where she was—in the suburbs, with condominiums organized in neat rows.) _He's an idiot, a hobo, a loser, and a jerk. He's needy, demanding, and annoying. He's selfish. He's careless. He's—_ "—a jerk." She said, aloud. She stopped, under the streetlight. Bugs buzzed around it and the circuiting hummed.

She ignored the twinge in her gut, and the feeling of a tug on her heart—you're_ a jerk,_ her conscience said to her, sounding suspiciously like Yato, but she firmly ignored it. He _was_ a jerk—he was a moron. She didn't need to feel bad about saying it, didn't _want_ to feel bad. _So, I won't,_ Kiyone thought. _I won't. I don't. I don't._

She looked at her sneakers, coffee splattered over them, (the wipes hadn't helped at all). "Yato," Kiyone said, aloud, looking at the shadows of the street.

"—_is a jerk."_

Kiyone froze.

"_Ya~to…is a jerk—! Yato is—a jerk!"_ It was voices, high–pitched and distorted, like birds whose ability to chirp had morphed into an imitation of speech. But it was off, chilling, and _wrong._ "_Yato is a je~rk. Je~rk."_

Then, Kiyone _slowly_ looked up, to the point of the sound. Up, into the brightness of the streetlight.

Up, where dozens of mis–colored eyes looked back.

* * *

Yato trudged down the street, hands shoved in his jersey pockets.

It was cold—but no shit, it was fall. _Why wouldn't it be cold?_ He didn't know.

Just like he didn't know where his _dumbass_ Shinki had gone.

He could feel the skin at the back of his neck prickling, like a bunch of mosquitos had been having a buffet back there—but every time he swatted at his nape, there was nothing there. _Phantom pains—_though, he knew pretty damn well where they were coming from.

He wondered what had gotten her so worked up—he hadn't _thought_ that he was being _too_ annoying. But apparently he was worse than he thought. _Mayu said so._

Then, he scowled. _Girls always getting' people in a tizzy,_ he thought, _causin' problems_.

But he _was_ worried about her. Shit, she was his _Shinki_. A partner. (A servant would be better—but he had to pick and choose the things he wanted to nit–pick.) His right–hand spirit–woman. Things were supposed to be—_easier_.

_When are things _ever_ easier?_ Yato thought. (He was tired—sleep had been hard to come by, like work, ever since he had picked up his newest problem–child. He had wondered if this was some sort of survivor's guilt—or killer's guilt, since he might as well have shoved her in front of the bus himself.)

Yato sighed, long–suffering, and felt, then, as though he could suddenly feel his age weighing down on him, making his joints ache and his back stoop. He rubbed at his hand, looking down—the skin was smooth. Unmarred. _Still lookin' fabulous._

He felt another pince at his neck—less like mosquitos and more like a hornets. _What is that girl _thinking? Yato clapped a hand to his nape.

Then, like a slideshow that was fast–forwarded, he saw bits and pieces of a movie that wasn't even his own: an algebra worksheet, a scarf, a photograph of a family smiling generically, a ring with two men kickin' the shit out of each other, and two girls laughing _hard_. Then, like someone had pulled the power–cord, it all stopped.

Yato blinked, and pressed a hand to his forehead—he could feel a bitch of a migraine coming on.

_Well, _he grimaced. _'least I know why she's pissed._

He was about to debate going back to the convenience store, just to get some Aspirin, when he heard it—

—A scream.

* * *

Kiyone thought that her problems were bad when a _dozen_ speaking eyes were looking at her.

But then— _Then_ the eyes started to converge, pushing and shoving together 'til they were indistinguishable from one another, a cluster of scleras with mis–colored irises and pin–prick pupils looking at her.

She looked on with shock, a curling feeling _deep_ in the pit of her gut, and tried to speak, or _run_, or do something—anything—other than play the bystander, who was _very_ soon going to become the victim.

But only one thought came to her—only one word, and even that was quiet as it escaped her: "_Ayakashi_."

The thing—the yōkai—let out a raspy laugh, and Kiyone thought that it sounded like someone dry–heaving. _"Ne, ne, nē-chan, yo~u smell ni~ce—"_ and then, there was a clicking sound, as though someone was running across the pavement in stilettos. _"Ni—Nice, nē-chan smells ni~ce."_

Kiyone blinked—and distantly questioned what she was supposed to think of _that_—when a spindly, _dark_ purple leg began to draw itself out, into the streetlight. She let out a scream, flailing backward 'til she fell on her rear, watching. The leg was followed by another, then another—then another, and again and again 'til eight hairy legs were sticking out, clasped around the bulb of the streetlight, making it muted, and casting shadows down upon Kiyone and the asphalt.

_A spider,_ she thought, looking at its cluster of eyes positioned on its bulbous body, connected it to its twiggy legs. _It's a spider. It's an ayakashi spider._ Kiyone asked herself why Yato had never told her—she was expecting something like the Kuchisake-onna or Nurarihyon—and vaguely told herself that, _if_ she survived, she would make sure to beat him as close to death as a god could come.

"_—n~ē-chan, nē-ch~an, you smell ni~ce."_ Then, she heard it again—that high heel–patented clicking sound, and Kiyone realized with a deep, numb kind of horror that it was the spider's _pincers_.

_I'm going to be pincer–ed to death,_ she thought, wide–eyed, —_but wait, I'm already dead. So, I'm…going to re–die. By being pincer–ed to death._

Then, the ayakashi–spider crouched, its legs contorting, and—

—it _sprung_. The thing jumped a good few meters in the air, with a _whoosh_ of air that made Kiyone's hair ruffle. Then, it started to dive, legs outstretched, towards her—right on _top_ of her, and—

—Kiyone scrambled out of the way. The spider crashed to the street, the pavement cracking and the ground quaking. A few lights in the neighboring houses turned on, and a car alarm went off. Meanwhile, the streetlamp, so close to the impact, flickered and fizzed, before the base uprooted itself, the metal groaning as it fell over. Kiyone had to dart away again, on all fours, her hands already scraped and raw from her fast–diversion–tactic, not to get crushed.

The spider's eyes rotated, looking around the street, and they all stopped when they spotted her. The ayakashi let out a keening wail and began to scuttle over to where Kiyone was on the opposite side of the street, on the curb, trying to _look_ and _feel_ like the trashcans she was hiding behind.

With unearthly strength, the spider batted the aluminum cans away and garbage skittered down the street, along with the trash receptacles that, Kiyone noticed, where dented. (She briefly imagined what her head would look like, after the yōkai got its pincers on _her_.)

Kiyone looked up, though, and felt her heart go into her throat and her stomach sink farther down that that.

The spider was looking at her, all its eyes staring, and its pincers _clicking_ greedily.

Kiyone, again, imagined _what_ she would look like, when the gluttonous thing had gotten _her_ tangled in its maw.

Then, it raised one of its legs and the limb seemed to sharpen to a point, like a spear. (_Or a shish kabob_, but that thought didn't really help_._) The leg retracted, curling up and rearing back, like a cobra about to strike, and—

—There was a _thunk_.

Kiyone stared, dumbfounded, as a tin can bounced off of the spider's head, before skittering to the ground, and rolling into one of her sneakers. (It was a Coke, she realized.)

"This is why you should always recycle, kids." A voice boomed, and Kiyone knew who it was—she didn't have to look.

The spider let out a questioning cry, its legs _thumping_ against the ground as it circled—Kiyone felt her body jump with every jarring step—peering above its head, into the night. "_Who~?"_

"Don't tell me," the voice thundered, "that you haven't heard of—"

And, _oh,_ Kiyone thought, _I'd rather be eaten by the spider_—

"—the _Yato_ god!"

Then, there was a _swoosh_, and Yato jumped off of the triangular roof of the nearest condominium complex, landing squarely on the head of the ayakashi.

* * *

"Are you _stupid?"_ Yato asked her, and he was genuinely wondering, really.

Kiyone gawked at him, still sprawled on the curb.

"I mean, _really?"_ Yato felt the yōkai shift beneath him and he turned, again, so he could give her the best _I–am–your–master–are–you–an–idiot_ look. "Runnin' around in the _night_, which is, like, ayakashi prime–time." He put his hands on his hips. "Are you du—"

"—_Yatolookout!"_

He jumped off of the spider—and _holy shit_ was it ever—and flipped midair, rocketing meters off of the ground; he felt the sharp cut of air where the thing's gangly leg had swiped at him.

The yōkai let out a furious roar, (Yato didn't know that spiders _had_ mouths), and he saw its beady eyes lock on him with gluttonous hunger.

_Fuck that,_ he thought, _I'm no arachnid buffet_. Then, midair, he looked at his Shinki—the _idiot_—and thought, _I hope you're a really big newspaper. _He sucked in a breath and hollered:

"_Seiki!"_

The character on Kiyon'es chest shone through the material of her shirt, and she looked at it, taken aback. Then, there was a burst of light, blurring out Kiyone and then turning in on itself, 'til it ripped towards him, forming itself within his grasp, into a katana.

_It's been awhile since I hefted one of these,_ he thought. Yato landed on top of a streetlight, just opposite the ayakashi, and paused to admire his Shinki's form. She was a decent blade, sharp and sleek, the color of rose gold with a tinge of bronze.

_"Wh—What—?"_ Kiyone's voice echoed in his head, confused and scared.

"Congrats," Yato said amicably. "You're not too bad, y'know?"

_"I—I don't—"_

"—But," Yato watched as the ayakashi turned, letting out a furious wail. "The real test," he raised the Seiki, "begins _now."_ And he leaped off of the streetlight, flipping in the air. "You," he called, and the spider swiveled and turned, raising its eyes to look at him, high in the air, "who would desecrate this land of the rising sun," he dragged his fingers from the hilt to the tip of the blade, "I now lay waste with the Seiki…and expel thy vast defilement!" And as he descended, he brought the katana down with speed and precision—that was all he needed to do, because the Seiki's lethal sharpness cleaved the yōkai with ease.

Yato landed on the ground, in between the halves of the spider that tottered on its legs, and a brilliant burst of light signified their purification. The ayakashi's remains dissolved into the air and night.

Then, the Seiki broke apart into balls of shining light, 'til it was Kiyone again, sprawled on the ground like she had been before, wearing her jersey, her hair still in a ponytail.

"Yo," Yato said.

"I— Hi." She breathed, staring him. "Tha—That was—?"

"—How you get rid of a ayakashi." Yato said, leaning back on his heels, hands in his pockets. "Kind'a figured you'd get that from the fact that, y'know, it's gone."

Kiyone just blinked. Then, she looked up at him, and said, dumbly, "You—You _saved_ me."

"'course." Yato said. "I'd be out'a business if I didn't, y'know." He glanced around at the wreckage—the pavement was cracked and upheaved in spots, a streetlight was down, and garbage, recyclables, and trashcans were spread across the street. He saw, also, that a few lights were turning on in the condos. "We should probably leave before the whole neighborhood wakes up." Then, he held out a hand. "C'mon. Let's go."

She looked at him, eyes wide, and then nodded. Kiyone smiled. "Yeah." And she took his hand, gripped it, and stood.

Yato grinned, raising a fist triumphantly. "To Tenjin's face!" And set off down the road.

"You know," Kiyone told him, walking beside him; she was smiling. "You have sweaty hands."

"_What?!"_

* * *

_A/N: I'm sorry! It's late, I know, but still—lots of things happened in this chapter, didn't they? (I hope everyone likes Hiyori / Kiyone's Shinki form__—there was a lot of hype about this; but I decided on a katana because Shinki usually take the form that their gods need most, and Yato is a sword kind'a guy__—and her weapon!name. [The fact that 'Seiki' {say-kee} is so similar to Sekki is a coincidence between the kanji, I swear]_.) Still, there was a plot development—could it be?—and a lot_ of character development for Hiyori / Kiyone; though, you'll see some of the results of that next chapter._

_Index:_

**_Ojō-san_**_ is how you would refer to a young woman / girl._

_**Oji-san** is how you might refer to an older man, (like, 'uncle', only not so literally)._

_**Nē-san** is how you might refer to a teenage girl / young woman, (like, 'older sister')._

_**Kuchisake-onna** is a type of Japanese yōkai that takes the form of a woman with a slitted mouth._

**_Nurarihyon_**_ is a type of Japanese yōkai that goes into peoples houses and steals food; it is thought to be the leader of a **Hyakki Yakō**; a group of ayakashi._

_A **Katana**__ is a Japanese sword._

_And a thanks to everyone who has supported this story so far; whether it be with praise, criticism, reminders, follows, reviews, or favorites, I appreciate it all! (If there are any grammar or punctuation errors, by the way, I'll come back and fix them!)_


	4. Unpredictable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami,_ or _Bleach._

* * *

_Chapter 04:_

_Unpredictable_

* * *

Yato tapped his forefinger against the bench.

So far, it had been, what, forty–two times? —No, no, forty–seven. Forty–eight. Forty–nine. Fifty—

He craned his head to the side, looking at Kiyone, who was snoozing on the bench opposite him, curled up like a kitten. (_Shit,_ Yato thought, _we still haven't found that _fucking cat—)

—He bit his lip and quietly, _delicately,_ pulled his phone from his pocket. The screen blared on, displaying in large, bold letters:

_11:41 PM_

_Time to go,_ he thought without relish. Then, he slowly slid off the bench, sneakers touching the concrete and tip–toed towards the stairs, the street, and…

Yato glanced back—Kiyone was snoring.

He snorted. (Why had he expected anything else?)

Then, he trudged off.

* * *

It wasn't _that_ far from Tenjin's place to Uso Park.

But Yato walked like it was. He skulked, slinked, and took his sweet time, because it _was_ his—he told himself—and, well, _maybe_ he was stalling.

But _shh_.

The residential district was quiet, anyways—just two–story houses pinched together with narrow driveways and stacked trashcans on the curb. There wasn't a TV , lamp, or a person up and at it in the whole place—just Yato and the streetlights.

He sighed, looking up and around.

(He didn't know why he kept _doing_ it—damn, he was annoying himself. But he couldn't help but feel that he was being followed, which was ridiculous, 'cause Kiyone was asleep and who else'd follow him?)

Nervousness, that's what it was—but why? _Why?_

'_Cause you shouldn't be doing this_. He thought, and then: _Do you _want_ to be doing this?_

Well, shit—when'd he become so philosophical, (or psychological, or whatever the hell it was)?

But, no, he'd never _really_ wanted to do this—but how many choices did he have? _If beggars were choosers, everyone would starve,_ he thought. Better yet: _if no–name gods were picky, they wouldn't exist, would they?_

So, it was necessary.

But still, he felt guilty—like he did for not telling Kiyone that he, well, sort of _killed _her. It was a gnawing, nagging thing—itching at his neck like Blight. (Not that he'd had that for awhile, though—Kiyone was doin' pretty well, in the days since their scary–ass spider meet–up; she'd get pissed at him, yeah, and stalk off, but she'd always come back, say she was sorry and smile that smile of hers, and that'd be that. The sting at his neck never went past the feel of a mosquito's bite; anything more than a few splashes of shrine water wasn't needed—everything was going pretty damn good.)

Maybe _that_ was why he felt like shit 'bout this. (Like the sleaze–ball guy who cheats on one steady girlfriend with another trashy one.)

"But gods can do no wrong." Yato said aloud to himself, as he rounded the street corner.

He trekked the next few blocks to Uso Park, humming the theme songs A to Z from _Bleach_—quality programming—and trying _very_ hard _not_ to think about, well, anything.

Yato crossed the street, his sneakers scraping against the asphalt, and then up the curb, across the grass, and into Uso Park.

He walked quicker, now, 'cause getting bitched about being late was the _last_ thing he wanted, now. He scurried down the path, and when the fountain—a modern, sleek, black thing; he remembered when art actually looked _pretty_—came into sight, he slowed and glanced around the square, lined with benches and brick.

_Where is—?_

"—Yato."

"The fuck—?!" He yet out a shriek, jumping a meter in the air, and turned, sharply. He mustered enough ire into his voice to spit: "_Shit._ Don't _do_ that."

Hīro smiled genially. She crouched on the fountain's side, looking pale and odd—so much the Fare Shore being—with her white clothes and characters scrawled across her skin. Her hair was as dark as her eyes. "Why?"

Yato squared his shoulders, straightening out his jersey with all the prissy–ness he could muster. He tried—and failed—to look indignant. "'Cause it's creepy." He said. "Poppin' up outta nowhere, givin' people heart attacks." He muttered.

Stray was just amiable. "You're nervous, Yato. Why?"

He swallowed, looking at her. "No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are," she said, easily. "Why?" She tilted her head to the side. Her reflection mimicked it in the fountain's pool.

"No reason." Yato breathed.

Hīro peered at him. "Is it Vaiśravana?"

"_No_." Yato said, firmly, but he looked around still, like the high–riding bitch could pop out of nowhere, (which she sort of _could_).

"We could kill her." Hīro offered, amicably. "You could use me, you know, Yato. I would do it." She leaned forward, slightly, as if in a leer. "I would finish it."

"_No_." Yato insisted. "'s been a while since she's bothered me…" He glanced at Stray. "'sides, she isn't a _dog_—you can't hit her on a nose with a rolled up newspaper, say: _bad girl,_ and expect her to listen."

"Human, mutt—a bitch is the same in either species." Hīro said, with all the passivity as if they were talking about how the stock market was doing bad, the weather was good, and they needed more OJ in the fridge.

"Whatever, just—" Yato scowled, turning. "Let's go." He didn't wait, though, and started to stalk off.

Hīro's gaze lingered—then, she followed.

* * *

Kiyone woke up by rolling off the bench. (That kind of sucked—but, hey, it was an effective waker_–_upper.)

She let out a groan and laid with her face pressed against the pavement for a moment, 'til she remembered that hundreds of peoples' feet walked across it daily. _Gross._ She curled her nose before sitting up.

"You're graceful as ever."

She looked up sharply, kneeling, to look at the bench opposite her, where Yato was lying, arm behind his head, sunning like a fat cat. But his eyes were on her.

"You look terrible," Kiyone said, sort of to be mean, but also with a bit of concern, because, _wow,_ did he ever. Rundown, tired, with bags under his eyes—Yato didn't always look _great_, but he never looked _bad_. Not like this. "What's wrong?" She asked.

He blinked, blearily, then sighed. "Nothing." Yato added: "At least, I feel better than the girl who just said hello to the concrete with her face."

"Shut up," Kiyone griped, standing and brushing off her pant legs. Then, she wondered: "Any jobs today?"

"Ye_p_." Yato said, looking less and less upbeat about it. "Cat–hunting."

"Fun." Kiyone said, unenthusiastically. She looked at him, again, and saw his eyelids drooping lazily, "I— If you're too tired, I could just go…?" She wondered, suddenly, why she had even offered—it was _Yato's_ job, after all... But he looked so _bad..._

"'s fine." Yato said, sitting, sliding his legs to the ground. Then, he stood, looking as tired as he probably felt. "Let's go." He managed, already trudging towards the street.

Kiyone bit her lip worriedly, but trailed after, still.

* * *

"Stupid fucking _cat!"_

Kiyone looked back at Yato—he was lagging, a _lot_—and slowed to a bouncing jog. Then, she looked ahead—Ūe-sama was running farther up the street; soon he'd be gone, _again_, and it had already taken them two hours, (and no breakfast, either), to get a lead on the thing.

"—_Go_!" Yato shouted, wheezing and gasping as he ran. "Go! Get that rotten animal so I can _strangle_ it!"

She pursed her lips, looked at him—he _did_ look awful—and then, bit it. "Are you su—?"

"—_Go!"_

Turning, Kiyone managed a quick, "fine," before quickening to a run—then, a dash, and she rushed down the street, (she realized belatedly that she was lucky it was the suburbs, and an odd hour in the morning—no traffic).

She trailed after the cat for a few blocks, when—

—Ūe-sama turned sharply, diving into an alleyway between two tall houses.

Kiyone trailed after him, dashing into the gap between the buildings. She glanced wildly about—where had it _gone?_—and saw a flash of white, out of the corner of her eye. She turned, and let out a relieved: "Ūe-sama," when she saw the cat, standing by piles of trash bags, next to a dumpster.

She jogged over, kneeling down to scoop up the cat—_so easy,_ she thought—and tucking it under her arm.

"—So, you're the one."

Kiyone blinked. _Who—?_ And then, she looked up, and saw—

—A girl, crouched on top of the dumpster. (She was young, Kiyone realized; skin pale and her clothes were, too. Her hair was as black as her eyes. But what was so _striking_ about her was the dozens of crimson characters scrawled across her skin. _Aoi, Jun, Hitomi, Kimi, Kin…_ she read, methodically. _Names_, she realized, inscribed in the same way that her own was.) She reached up with her free hand, pressing her fingers against her character 清, tucked underneath the fabric of her shirt. _But, so many…_

"You're a bit plain, aren't you?" The girl remarked, affably; but she looked at Kiyone coolly.

"I—I—"

"Sei." She said, easily, reading Kiyone's character. "For 'Seiki'? Then, 'Kiyone' is your name, isn't it?"

"I— Wha—?" Kiyone blinked.

"_Isn't_ it?"

"Y—Yes." Kiyone looked at her, and wondered why she had answered so easily. "But, wait, who are—?"

"Another '音'?" The girl hummed. "Like all the others." She tilted her head to the side, peering at Kiyone. "There was Hatsune, Kazune, Itone, Sakine, Tomone…" The girl said. "So many." She looked at Kiyone, and smiled. "You know, out of all of his Shinki, _I_ was the only one Yato named without '音'. Uniquely. Individually." The look in her eyes, Kiyone thought, with a chill, was no longer _that_ kind.

Ūe-sama squirmed in her grip.

"But what are you?" And she spoke with the same amiableness, but there was pity, too, though it was fake, (Kiyone didn't know what irked her more). "Just another?"

_"Hey, Kiyone—!"_

Turning, she glanced down the alley—she could hear Yato, getting closer. _In here,_ she wanted to say, but she couldn't seem to find the words. The girl, Kiyone saw, was looking, too.

"Ask Yato about what happened to the others." The child offered.

Kiyone turned sharply, looking up at the dumpster—

—But the girl was gone.

* * *

_A/N: (Note: '音' is the character that gives Yato's shinki the '-ne' sound in their name.) Also, Nora / Hīro / Stray's psychological busting is based on the fears of those who run into her. Yukine's was being forgotten, unwanted. Kiyone's is being 'just another'—or, as unimportant to Yato as she is to any other Near Shore person._

_Also, more development! Feelings, morals, and relationships are starting to factor in, and other players are getting involved..._

_Including reviews, (hopefully)?_


	5. Undesirable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami._

* * *

_Chapter 05:_

_Undesirable_

* * *

Kiyone bit her lip.

_Ask him, _the girl had said. But it seemed ridiculous to, didn't it? She didn't even _know_ the girl—the strange Shinki girl with all the names tattooed on her skin. _Ask him._

She leaned her forehead against her knees, scrunched up on the bench.

Why ask him? Was it any of her business? He was—like her employer, sort of; and you didn't ask your boss how many other employees he'd had. That seemed like asking someone about his or her exe, and, well, it wasn't like that. Yato was…Yato. He had a dumb jersey, sweaty hands—_really_ sweaty, she'd noticed—and a bottle of five–yen coins he'd carry around. He didn't even have a shrine. All he had was, well, himself—with his blue eyes, and his nice smell, (which was weird, since he _did_ have sweaty hands)—

—Kiyone paused. _That doesn't have _anything_ to do with it._ She told herself, because, yeah, it didn't.

"Hey."

She looked up sharply and saw him standing by his bench, opposite hers. He was rubbing at his nape. "You alright?"

She blinked, then smiled: "Y—Yeah. 'course."

Yato winced. "'kay… 'cause, y'know, if anything's wrong, I can feel it. Here." He pointed to his neck. "So… Tell me if anything's botherin' you."

Kiyone swallowed, then nodded. She smiled again, and it was a truer. "Yeah. Thanks."

He let out a sigh; then, he sat down, folded his legs, and laid down on the bench. He curled up. "Good." He breathed.

She pursed her lips.

_(Ask him.)_

—But that was ridiculous…

…Wasn't it?

* * *

"What's the job today?" Kiyone asked, chewing on her hotdog. The bench she was sitting on was surprisingly comfy, though she guessed that she had gotten used to them after sleeping on them 'n all. The food was good, too. (Lunch was lunch no matter what or where it was, after all.)

Yato hummed, munching on his hotdog. "Ayakashi huntin'." He said, chewing all the while. (Kiyone wrinkled her nose.) "And…not much else. 'fter all, I've already sprayed all the walls 'n signs 'round here."

Kiyone rolled her eyes. "Of course."

"Hey," Yato said, swallowing, "it's good for marketing! No good business ever started up without advertisement."

"_Mm-hmm_." Kiyone hummed, shooting him a look. (Or, The Look, as he called it.)

"It's _true_." Yato defended. "I mean, seriously, name me _one_ corporation that _didn't_ start up without marketing. None! You can't name me _one!"_ He waved his finger authoritatively.

Kiyone rolled her eyes, but felt herself smile, just a bit.

Then, she pursed her lips. _(Ask him.)_ It—It couldn't hurt, _right?_ How bad could it be? He was in a good mood, after all, and—and, well, it was just a question. She'd be really casual about it, too, so. She nodded. "Yato—"

"—C'm'on," Yato said, standing and stretching. "Lotta stuff to do, so little time."

Kiyone swallowed. (_Well, there goes _that_ idea.)_ "U—Um, yeah. Yeah." She stood, too. "Let's go."

* * *

Yato didn't know _what_ the hell was up with his Shinki.

"What the _hell_ is up with you—?!" Yato yelped, leaping into the air and avoiding the stinger attached to the scorpion that could double as a passenger bus. (He decided, midair, that he wouldn't take a job without reading the description first anymore, because, really.)

_I don't—_ _I don't know!_ Kiyone sounded anxious. (_And she should be,_ he thought.)

"Uh, _yeah, _you do!" Yato cried, jumping off of an electric wire as the scorpion's tail–end came crashing down meters away, severing the line and sending a fritz of sparks up in the air. "And you need to spill, quick, before shit gets bad!"

_It's _already _bad!_ She cried.

"Then, worse!" Yato shouted, landing on the roof of a Subaru. He looked down at the Seiki, still sleek and colorful; though the edge of it looked like it couldn't even cut a tissue—which Yato bet that, yeah, it couldn't. "C'm'on, what's wrong?"

_Nothing._ She insisted.

Yato growled. "_Fine, _be that way." He leapt up again a few good meters, and thought: _fuck it._ He flipped over the ayakashi scorpion—once, twice, and then: "You," he called, "who would desecrate this land of the rising sun," he dragged his fingers along Seiki's dull side, "I now lay waste with the Seiki…and expel thy vast defilement!" And then, he dropped, bringing down the katana _hard_ on top of the scorpion's head.

The thing let out a gurgling shriek before slowly dissipating—disappearing entirely with a burst of light.

He landed with a stumble on the pavement. He watched with a scowl as the Seiki transformed into Kiyone again.

She stood, looking at him wide–eyed.

"Okay." Yato said, crossing his arms over his chest. "That _sucked_." He looked at her. "What's up?"

Kiyone blinked.

"_Now_."

She bit her lip, and then blurted out, hands fisted at her sides and eyes clenched shut: "_Whatabouttheothers?"_

Yato blinked. And stared. But mostly blinked. "Uh… What?"

"The— The others." Kiyone swallowed. "What about them?"

"Again," Yato said, "what?"

Now, Kiyone looked annoyed. "The other Shinki." She said. "Did you— Did you ever have any other Shinki?" She fidgeted.

Yato paused. Then, said easily: "Well, yeah."

Kiyone blinked. "I— You…did?" Her chin seemed to quiver, just a bit.

"Um… Yeah…?" Yato said, slowly, suddenly feeling like he was walking into a death trap—like the dude who's wife had just found out that he'd had a mistress; well, a lot of them. (_Wait, _why_ do I keep using this comparison?)_ "That's what— That's what gods do. Some have dozens." He defended, and then thought: _wait, what am I defending?_

"Oh…" Kiyone managed, gripping the hem of her jersey. "Oh— She— She was right." She murmured.

"Well, yeah—" Yato paused. "Wait. _'She'?"_

"I—" Kiyone swallowed. Then, she said, hesitantly: "I met a girl. She— She said she was your… Shinki."

Yato let out a breath—then inhaled, because that was what normal people did. Normal people, though, didn't fantasize about strangling people. Namely, their Shinkis—well, sort–of Shinkis. "Stray." He said, easily. (Though, he felt like the farthest thing from easy–breezy. He felt homicidal.)

"I—" Kiyone blinked. "—What?"

"The girl you met— She was a stray."

"A…A 'stray'?"

"'s why she had all the markings." Yato said, jaw tight. "Strays are Shinki who have lots of masters—but, they aren't supposed to. And they aren't trustworthy."

Kiyone blinked. "Wait— Why aren't they? Supposed to," she added, confusedly.

"Because," Yato grit out, "it's just— It's wrong."

"Why?" Kiyone asked—there was more than confusion in her voice, now. (Hurt, maybe, and a little pissy–ness.)

"Because— Why do you care?" Yato asked.

"'Because'." Kiyone snapped. "And why _isn't_ it okay? A god can have lots of Shinki, but a Shinki can't work for lots of gods?" She had her hands on her hips, now.

Yato copied her. "It's wrong because it _is_."

"That's— That's so stupid!" Kiyone shouted.

"Yeah?!" Yato shouted back, because two could play at that game. (Damn straight.) "Yeah?! Well, _you're_ stupid!"

"No, _you're_ stupid!"

"You— You—" Kiyone looked so angry. "You're such an _idiot—!"_ Then, she turned, hot on her heels, and went stomping off down the street.

"Where are you _going_?!" Yato yelled. "You're staying with me!"

Kiyone, meters away, turned. Her hands shook. "No!" She shouted. "Not anymore!" And then—then she took off, running down the street.

Yato, hand on the back of his neck, stared.

(He didn't follow her.)

* * *

_A/N: Short, but stuff happens! (Could it be?)_

_Also, there are two things I keep forgetting. One: to say that the title of this story comes from the son_ **Golden**_ by_ Parade of Lights. _It served as a_ huge_ inspiration to this story, so. Two: to thank my anonymous reviewers, who are __awesomesauce. So,_ **Guest**_,_ **fiance**_, thanks for rockin'!__  
_

_Reviews for the Yato god? _;)


	6. Unreachable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami._

* * *

_Chapter 06:_

_Unreachable_

* * *

Kiyone pressed her forehead against her kneecaps.

_Because,_ Yato had said, like it was all that she needed to know—and it _wasn't_. She wanted an answer that wasn't—well, _not_ an answer. She didn't want to settle, anymore—not like she had when she'd died, and it had just been 'roll with the punches' and 'tough shiz', really. Kiyone wanted to have a say in something—like she hadn't when Yato had decided, 'yeah, you're my Shinki', or 'no multi-gods for you'. Why couldn't _she_ have a choice? Why couldn't _she_ decide what _she_ wanted, for once?

_Because_.

"Such a jerk." She muttered, and then looked up—traffic was still at its constant, even at 4–something–in–the–morning. It was almost light out—the sky was pink and orange. It was cold out, too; though, really, huddling in an alleyway didn't help to keep warm. (But what _could_ she have done? Checked into a motel? Gone to a homeless shelter? Lay on a bench? No, no, and she was sick of that one.) Besides, it wasn't like she was going to stay away _forever_…

Just for a while. (Kiyone thought that that was deserved—some time to cool off; some time to _not_ be constantly harassed by that jersey–wearing lunatic. But said lunatic… He'd be looking for her, wouldn't he? It wasn't nice to make him search—but he hadn't followed her. Would he _not_ look?)

_Do you want him to?_

Kiyone shook her head. "I don't know." She muttered. Some days, Yato was okay—other days, she wanted to smack him. He had saved her—he had screwed her over a bit, too, though. (Was it _worth_ being a Shinki just _not_ to be an ayakashi? Then again, Yato hadn't done it for her best interest—he'd needed a Shinki, she was there. Couldn't he have used that girl, though? Or 'the others'?

But, still, he had _saved _her…)

And, good or bad, he was always there.

She sighed, tilting her head to look at the alley wall. _Back and forth_.

(Wasn't _that_ the truth.)

* * *

Yato leaned against the tree.

(He'd walked around ten parks, gone through over a dozen blocks and streets. Hadn't talked to people, because, what good would that do, searching for a girl no one else could really see?)

And he _still_ hadn't found her.

His Shinki was an idiot, Yato decided—a moody idiot, too, considering the pinpricks he felt on his nape. He rubbed at the back of his neck. _Shit._ He'd have to go to a shrine, soon, and—well, this was becoming a bigger pain in the ass than he'd hoped for.

But, then again, when did _anything_ work out?

"Damn it," he muttered, hand still against his skin, which felt hot against the cold air.

"—You should cut ties with her."

Yato whirled around, eyes searching, 'til they found— "Stray." He said. And he hoped—and guessed—that he sounded as fucking _pissed_ as he felt.

Hīro tilted her head to the side, crouched on the branch of an oak—in the dimness, the stark white of her kimono and skin seemed to glow. Her eyes were bleak shadows set in to her rounded face. "Don't be mad at me, Yato."

"Oh, I'm not mad," Yato said, easily, with a genial attitude that said how gods–damn irate he was. "I'm fucking _furious_."

Stray looked at him. "I did nothing wrong—I merely pointed out what _was_."

"You didn't _point,_" Yato snarled, stalking up to the tree. He looked up at her. "You poked and prodded and made a _mess_ of things, that's what you did."

Hīro eyebrows raised. "No, she did that on her own. You did, too," she added.

"You just gave us the push we needed, right?" Yato said and he turned away, running a hand through his hair. Then, he said: "I just— _When_ will you stop doing this?"

Stray's lips were pursed. "When you start getting it right." She said.

Yato looked at her. "You mean, how _you_ think things should be?" He let out a laugh. "I just— Why can't you leave me be? I'm keeping up with all of it, but you— You just keep _interfering_. I'm sick of it."

"I'm not the one you should be concerned about." Hīro answered.

Yato's looked at her sharply. He was quiet for a moment—then, he swallowed, his jaw grinding. He turned away—he didn't know _what_ he'd do if he didn't. (Nothing good, that was for sure.) "Leave me alone, Stray." He said, looking out across the park.

Hīro's voice was soft, beckoning: "You don't have to—"

"—_Alone._" He snapped.

He could hear a rustle of leaves, then: "You've already brought that upon yourself."

And…

Nothing.

Yato ran a hand through his hair. He swallowed—then, winced. Another pince at his nape. He rolled his neck, a series of _cracks_ and _pops_ emerging.

He thought of Hīro, and— Other things. Then, he thought of his other dumbass Shinki.

Yato shook his head, sighed, and felt _exactly _as old as he was. _One disaster at a time, _he decided.

* * *

Kiyone's stomach grumbled.

She looked at the sign: a hotdog for 500 yen. All she had was—well, pocket lint and loose threads. She frowned and tried—and failed—too ignore the watering in her mouth. She was sure that no vendor would give away food for free; besides, it wasn't like he could _see_ her, anyway.

She sighed, and rubbed at her arms—even with the jersey, it was still as cold on a bench in a park as it was in an alleyway in the city.

"You look like you're having fun."

Kiyone's head snapped up, and she looked at— "Yato." She said, surprised and guilty at, well, seeing _him_. (She felt like a kid who had run away from their parent after a fight—except, it wasn't like that. It was more than that. …Wasn't it?)

He didn't look overjoyed, either—he looked bad, really; like he hadn't slept. (Had he… Had he been up all night, too? Looking for her, maybe? That only made her feel crappier.) "Did you enjoy your day off?" He muttered, hand clasping the back of his neck.

"It wasn't—" Kiyone's feet shuffled and she looked down at her sneakers. "—It wasn't a day off."

"No." Yato said, annoyed. "I don't recall giving you employer permission."

"You're not my employer." Kiyone snapped—then, she pursed her lips. "You're— You're just— I don't know."

"Join the party." Yato sighed, walking over the bench and sitting down next to her. He leaned, looking as crappy as she bet he felt.

Kiyone looked at him from out of the corner of her eyes. "Doesn't seem like much of a party." She admitted, before looking out across the park—pedestrian traffic was starting to pick up. Not that anyone could see them, though. "Yato," she began, quietly—she didn't look at him, "I—I'm sorry for running off."

"Good," and, well, she didn't quite like his tone.

Kiyone looked at him sharply and her nose scrunched up. "Don't do that." She demanded.

"What?" Yato asked.

"Act like—like a jerk, that's what!" Kiyone said and then, she added, quieter: "You—You do that a lot."

Yato snorted. "What?"

"Put your hand on her neck," she said, softly.

"Happens when you're acting like a doofus."

Kiyone blinked. "What?"

Yato looked at her. "Every time you act pissy, or sad, or whatever shitty–feeling you get—when that happens, I get stabbed. Not in the, 'oh, shit, the dude's got a knife', sense," Yato added. "But in the, 'when you feel bad, I feel bad' sense."

Kiyone stared. "I— What?"

Yato raised an eyebrow. "You want me to repeat it?"

She shook her head, looking. "Every time _I_," she pointed to herself, "act 'bad'—you—you can…feel it…?" She gestured to him, weakly.

"Yeah." Yato sighed, eyes half–closed. "Sucks, doesn't it?"

"I don't— I didn't know." Kiyone said, stupidly. (She _felt_ dumb. She had— Yato had been hurting and he had been doing it quietly, while she was off acting like such a—such a _pain_ in the _butt_.) And then: "W—Wait, and _you_ did?"

Yato leaned back on the bench. "Yeah." He said, hand still pressed to his nape.

"But why—" Kiyone swallowed, edging forward, just a bit, "why didn't you _tell _me?"

He shrugged. (The nerve.) "Figured you'd get it through your head soon enough."

"—And 'til then, you just decided to—to put up with it?" Kiyone breathed, disbelievingly. (What kind of idiot would…?) "You—You're hurting, and you just—" She swallowed. "—you just let me do it."

Yato looked at her, out of the corner of his eyes. "I guessed that you needed to get it out of your system."

"And—And letting it continue doesn't make it _worse?"_

"Well, no, it does." Yato winced. "But it— It's not something you can stick in a corner. It's your feelings—you can't fight those." He looked at her. "You just have to—control them."

"'Control them'." Kiyone repeated.

"Yeah."

"But I—I don't know how to do that." She admitted.

Yato shrugged. "Takes practice—you just have to look on the bright side of things. Silver lining and all that happy shit."

"I—I'm dead." Kiyone said, stupidly. "They're isn't much to look forward to when, well, your life's _gone_."

Yato twitched and said: "Don't _act_ like that," then he looked at her. "You have me, don't you?"

Kiyone blinked. "I—I do?"

Yato nodded and looked at her like, _are you a moron?_ "You're my Shinki. I'm your god. We're stuck with each other. We gotta deal with it. So, grin and bear it, and move on with it."

Kiyone blinked. "We're…together." She repeated.

"Well, yeah," Yato said. "Shinki and god. That's what it means. To be partners—through thick and thin, and all of that Hallmark 'n' Disney crap. Friends. Equals. Besties. Whatever the hell you want to call it, I'm stuck with you, and you're stuck with me."

"Partners." Kiyone repeated, and she looked at him wide–eyed: "Really?"

Yato opened an eye to give her _A Look_. "I took you in, didn't I?"

_Shinki and god._ Kiyone thought. And then: _We're together._ "I— You won't— What about the others?" She ventured, awkwardly and sadly, too. (She thought of the girl with all the tattoos—she thought of the names that _all _ended in 音. And she wondered, for a minute, how many other people had been Yato's sword and shield, his spear and bow and arrow—his partner, his weapon.)

"The others?" Yato repeated. And then: "_Oh_." He rolled his eyes. "Who gives a shit? That was then 'n' this is now." He looked at her. "Past is past—present is present. I don't care about then, because that was a while ago—you shouldn't, either. _You're_ my partner, now. We listen to each other, talk to each other. Kind of the definition of 'partner'," he added.

Kiyone blinked. That was— Well, that was one way to look at it. She bit her lip. "So—you'll stick with me, then?" She ventured awkwardly, but hopefully, too.

"What part of 'stuck with each other' don't you get?" Yato griped.

Kiyone rolled her eyes, reaching across to give him a little smack on the shoulder.

(He didn't seem to mind.)

* * *

Benches were still uncomfortable, of course. (_Really, _Yato had said, _Tenjin should get some cushions or somethin'. It's really inhospitable to guests. _Kiyone had reminded him that, _we're not guests._ And Yato had told her prissily: _Just because you weren't invited doesn't mean you should be treated shitty._)

She looked up at the rafters—at the shadows. It was dark, but she didn't mind it so much. Kiyone looked over—Yato was curled up on his bench, opposite hers, snoring _loudly_.

But that was sort of okay. (It was annoying, still, though.)

_Partners._ Kiyone bit her lip, brow furrowing. That meant—well, that meant that they were together. Side by side. She and Yato—they had to rely on each other, now. They had nothing else, then. _The others don't matter,_ he had said. Just her and him.

So she— She had to try, then. Not to feel bad—not to hurt, so Yato wouldn't hurt. She had to try. Kiyone nodded to herself. _I will—Yato tried for me, so I'll—I'll try for him._

Yato tossed 'n' turned, nearly falling off the bench. He was drooling.

And Kiyone smiled. _(Because.)_

* * *

_A/N: I'm _so_ sorry this is late. I think I should call this chapter 'Unwritable' because I just wrote this and re-wrote it and finally...this is the outcome. I'm happy with it, so, I hope you are, too._


	7. Unaware

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami,_ (or _Twitter_ or _Batman_).

* * *

_Chapter 07:_

_Unaware_

* * *

_This sucks._ Yato thought that that was a pretty accurate description, as he emptied the ladle over his back, the shrine water searing the Blight off of his skin, purifying his soul. He sighed—he was damp, he was cold, he was tired. Heart to hearts took a lot out of a god—but Yato guessed that it had worked pretty damn well, since he hadn't gotten stung since. _Maybe I can be a therapist if this whole 'god' thing doesn't work out, _he thought.

But things were looking up. (Finally.) Kiyone seemed happy—and a happy Shinki meant a happy life, as the proverb went, (Yato was pretty sure that that was _not_ how it went, but he was starting a new trend, so).

"You wouldn't have to do that if you just used me."

Yato stiffened. _Something to add to the list of things I am _not_ right now: in the mood._ "Go away, Stray." He said, not turning away from the well.

"I'm being honest, Yato." He couldn't see her—but she was close. And he didn't like it.

"I don't need your honesty. Go on. Get."

For a moment, he thought she had, but he was never _that_ lucky. "And you need her?" Suddenly, Hīro was more than close—she was right next to him, sitting on the edge of the well. Her clothes were a pure white so bright and painful that Yato had to look away, to the dark parking lot—the streetlights were out, but the sky was lightening with the oncoming morning. It had to be about 5 AM. "She's useless, Yato," Hīro leaned in. "She can't help you. She'll get in your away."

Yato looked down at the water—in the reflection, he caught Stray's gaze: a purplish–red that was so odd and cold. He looked away, then, and swallowed. "The only one getting in my way," he said lowly, slowly, "is you. _Go_."

Hīro's voice was soft, but hard at stone. "When you need help the most, don't come to me—or _him_."

Yato let out a breath.

—She was gone.

* * *

Kiyone tapped her foot. Bit her lip. Rubbed at her arms, (hey, it was _cold_).

Yato was late. That wasn't so bad—she had spent the whole morning and the beginnings of the afternoon with him, running around and vandalizing, (_it's not vandalism, _he had said prissily, spray–paint can in hand: _it's advertisement_), different walls and billboards in the Tōkyō Metropolitan area. And now, well, she wanted her lunch—which Yato was late in getting.

Still, she smiled, jut a bit. Things were—_good_. Being a Shinki wasn't so bad—even being Yato's bench–sleeping Shinki. Because, well, Yato was there to sleep on the benches, too—and to fight the ayakashi, and to take clothes from the homeless shelter bins, and to do a lot of stuff. No matter what Kiyone did, Yato was there, too, and so things were pretty good.

Still, there _were_ other things—stuff that she bet would bother her no matter how nice life was. Like her time as a human—time she couldn't remember and would never, really. Or the girl in the alley, the one with the marks—one of the _others_.

But Yato had said that they didn't matter, in the same way he had said that they were partners, and that was what counted, Kiyone decided firmly. If Yato said it, then she would believe him; because he trusted her in the same way, too. She eyes hardened—she was determined to be worthy of it.

_Partners._ She smiled, then grinned.

"Oi, c'mere!"

Kiyone looked—and saw Yato, standing by the shrine's entrance, holding two…? "What've you got?" She asked, standing. She brushed off her jersey before jogging towards him. Whatever they were, they were wrapped in tinfoil and smelled…_delicious_. Her mouth watered.

"Burritos," he grinned, handing one to her.

Kiyone raised an eyebrow, but took a bite out of it anyway. She blinked. "They're good."

"Don't sound so surprised." He sniffed, munching on his breakfast.

"Sorry, I don't generally eat food wrapped in foil."

Yato rolled his eyes. "You need to be more adventurous!" He blinked. "That reminds me," and he scrounged around in his jersey pocket before pulling out a scrap of paper. He held it up triumphantly and grinned. "We have a job."

* * *

_Of course 'job' means 'ayakashi hunting'._

Yato blinked, glancing down at the Seiki—he could almost see Kiyone looking at him in that exasperated way of hers. "What did you think it meant?" He called, jumping from a power line to a streetlight; he looked down at the road below. Nothing stood out—certainly not a hulking ball of impurity stalking around.

But if it was there, it _should_ come out soon—it was already dark, ('cause the sun tended to set early in November), and people were getting out of work soon. Lot of anxious businesspeople waitin' for their day to be done…

"Ayakashi prime time." Yato muttered.

_Like TV?_ Kiyone's voice asked.

"Sort of." Yato answered, leaping up onto an apartment complex's roof. He stood on edge, looking down at the residential area of Tōkyō below. (And he felt kind of like Batman; only, without the cape.) _Still nothing._ He frowned.

_What are we looking for?_ The Seiki wondered. _A spider, or—_

"—Well," Yato said, "somethin' big, and ugly, with webbed feet," and he looked, blinked, and pointed: "like _that—!"_

A giant frog—really, it was _huge_—was lumbering down a street a few blocks over, causing one hell of a ruckus. It was an ugly shade of purpe and green, which was really weird, Yato thought, since those colors didn't _mix_—

_—Yato!_ Kiyone's voice cried. _We should probably, you know, get the yōkai!_

"Right." Yato blinked, then jumped off of the building—he hurtled down a few stories, flipping, before he landed on a power line. Then, he leapt off of it, landing on another apartment complex on the opposite side of the street, and ran across the roof 'til he was side by side with the colossal toad.

The thing let out a groan, which underlined its: _Smells nice…_ And it turned its bulbous eyes on Yato, _you smell ni~ce… Nice~…_

Yato swerved towards the roof's edge, before leaping off of it—he spun, hundreds of meters off the ground, high above the ayakashi, and said: "Yeah, yeah—that's what the ladies tell me!" Then, he shouted: "Ready, Kiyone?"

_Yeah!_ Kiyone's voice called.

He grinned. "Good, 'cause things are about to get a little—" and he swung his blade high, "—_rough,"_ only to bring it down with him, directly down the ayakashi's back.

The thing let out a shriek, turning its head to look at Yato—then, it opened its mouth and let its tongue strike out one, five, _ten_ meters.

_No way to avoid it midair._ Yato grit his teeth, hollering: "get ready, Kiyone!" just in time for the frog–yōkai's tongue to wrap around Seiki.

Kiyone let out a cry: _Y—Yato—!_

"Got it, don't worry!" He growled and gripped the blade with two hands, pulling back with all his might; the Seiki cut through the phantom muscle and sinew slickly. A quarter of the toad's tongue fell to the street below with a great _crash_, breaking the pavement. The ayakashi let out a cry, retracting what was left of its appendage, just in time for Yato to pull the Seiki free and jump back onto the roof of a Toyota.

"You okay?" Yato panted, looking at his Shinki.

_F—Fine, I think._ She didn't sound it, though; she was scared shitless, he knew.

"It'll be over in just a few." He promised, gripping the sword's hilt tightly, looking at the toad with an edge to his eyes that matched the Seiki's blade. "We're gonna end this _quick_."

_R—Right._ Now, Kiyone sounded surer.

He smirked. "Good." Then, he jumped into the air, again—flipped once, twice—and began: "You, who would desecrate this land of the rising sun," and he ran his fingers from his katana's hilt to tip, "I now lay waste with the Seiki…and expel thy vast defilement!" He landed on top of the frog's head, just in time to raise Seiki high and drive it down into the toad.

A brilliant burst of light followed the ayakashi's gurgling shriek, just as the yōkai dispersed into the night air.

Yato knelt on the ground, the Seiki's tip resting in the pavement. "Good job," he panted.

_Th—Thanks._

He grinned, watching as the Seiki turned into balls of light—and then, Kiyone, standing with her jersey, hair in a ponytail, smiling at him. "That was—" she swallowed. "—That was something."

Yato stood. "We were pretty badass. And," he added, with a grin: "more yen."

Kiyone rolled her eyes. "Is that all you ever think about?"

"What else is there to?" He countered, rubbing his hands together. He could already picture it, now—money, lots of it, enough to build a _big ass_ shrine and get _tons _of followers, (not just in the real world, but on Twitter, too), and live the life, like any of the Seven Lucky Gods, (well, only _certain_ ones). "So much money," he hummed giddily, "right, Kiyo—" He blinked. "—Kiyone?"

His Shinki had turned—was looking over at a streetlight that was flickering. But that wasn't what had her attention, Yato knew. Her eyes were wide. "Is that—" Kiyone breathed and raised a finger to point, "—Is that an ayakashi?"

Yato followed her gaze to a small ball of light, hovering alone and apart above the sidewalk. He pursed his lips. "No," he said, slowly, lowly: "that's a spirit."

* * *

_A/N: End scene. Like a boss. _;)

_[And you guys though that there would be no more cliffhangers.]_

_Also, I hope the timeline made sense in this chapter._

_Reivews, to vent your frustration? _;)


	8. Unswayable

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami._

* * *

_Chapter 08:_

_Unswayable_

* * *

"A—A spirit?" Kiyone stared—the ball of light… She had never seen a spirit like _that_ before; she had seen ayakashi, coming in all colors and shapes, and when she looked at herself she seemed _normal_. This—This was a ball of light, with a small face etched into it. (It looked like something out of an anime, really.)

"Yeah." Yato said, voice distant.

She turned to him—he had a strange look on his face, standing away with his hands tucked into his jersey pocket.

"I—" Kiyone looked back at the spirit. "—Was this what I was like, when you found me?" She stared at it and then leaned closer. It was so—so _bright_ and so small, just sitting there by the streetlight, on the sidewalk. _How long has it been here?_ She wondered. Then, she reached a hand out, fingertips close to touching it—

"—Don't." Yato's said sharply.

Kiyone blinked, turning to look at him, (it was only then that she noticed the cold had gone to snow around them)—her hand was still outstretched. "Why?" Her eyebrows furrowed.

Yato swallowed and pursed his lips. "Spirits are—they're finicky. It could be corrupted."

"But it—" She looked back at the ball of light, just sitting and hovering. "—it doesn't _look_ bad." That was true. It didn't look anything like an ayakashi. It looked—_pure_.

"It could become bad." Yato said.

Kiyone stared. He was leaning away, just a bit—and it felt like one of those moments where they were just meters away, but it felt like kilometers. "'Could'," she repeated, and remembered something that he had said, once—that very first day in the diner, (she still didn't know how he paid for the food): _Your spirit always remains. Yours became a Shinki, as opposed to an ayakashi_. "It could—It could be come a yōkai?"

Yato looked at her strangely. After a minute, he said, slowly: "…Yes."

"If we leave it," Kiyone said, "it'll—it'll turn into an ayakashi_?_"

"…Maybe." Yato said slowly.

"Then we can't—" Kiyone shook her head quickly. "—we can't _leave_ it."

"It's not ours to take care of."

"I don't care," Kiyone said, taking a step back, towards the ball of light, away from Yato. "I mean— I wasn't yours to take care of, but you took me in all the same. How is this any different?"

"It's—" Yato let out a quick breath. "—It just _is_."

"Why?" She asked, feeling angry and more hurt. "Because you needed a Shinki? Just that?"

Yato looked at her, eyes hard. "That's not it."

"Then _why?_" Kiyone demanded. "If you wouldn't leave me—then you can't leave it." She looked at Yato and she just wanted him to _see_—to understand him, too, because this was one of those moments where she just didn't _get_ him. How could he— How could he just act like this was nothing—like this spirit, this person, was nothing.

There was a flicker of _something_ in Yato's eyes—a bit of hesitance.

Kiyone stepped forward; she reached a hand out, towards him. "It's like me, Yato." She said. "It didn't— It didn't ask for this, and it doesn't deserve to be turned into an ayakashi." She said. "Yato, it's like me, and I—I can't leave it."

Then— It was quiet. Yato looked at her—eyes sharp and clear, and for just a moment, Kiyone thought they understood each other. Then, he turned away, and it was gone. After a few seconds, he said: "Alright." Then: "Alright, fine." He stepped forward, walked past her, and stood in front of the spirit. He looked back at her, once. "But this is on you, you got it?"

Kiyone swallowed.

Yato let out a breath and as he did, said: "You who have nowhere to go and cannot pass on. I'll give you a place to stay." He paused, glanced at her again, then looked back: "My name is 'Yato'." He raised his pointer and center finger right at the spirit. "Lingering here, gripping thine true name… I make though mine servant with thine alias… They name is follower, they vessel is sound… Obey mine order and become my Shinki. Thy name is 'Yuki'. Thy vessel be 'Sekki'."

There was a burst of light—Kiyone took a step back, pressed a hand over her eyes; and when she opened them…

There was a boy. Standing in front of Yato, on the curb—wearing nothing but a white robe. He had blonde hair, a shade of yellow almost like white, and eyes that were orange. He looked no older than her, shorter. He looked down at his feet, then up, at her, at Yato.

Yato looked unhappy, meanwhile—jaw clenched, eyes set.

The boy frowned, gritting his teeth and wrapping his arms around himself—he shivered.

"Oh," Kiyone exhaled a puff of white. "Oh, here," and she began to shrug off her jersey, but—

—Yato had already taken his off. It was strange to see him without it. "Here, Yukine." He said, holding it out to the boy.

_Yukine_, Kiyone thought.

He scowled. "I don't want that dirty thing—it reeks of sweat. Who knows where it's been?"

Kiyone stared at him. Had he really— Had he really said that?

Yato let out a yelp. His eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, "Oh, really? Well, then, you can take it and shove it up your—"

"—Here," Kiyone intervened quickly, stepping forward and handing over her own jersey to Yukine. "Here."

The boy looked at it skeptically.

"It's clean." She said earnestly, and smiled. "I promise." She stuck it out further, and added: "Yukine."

Slowly, he reached a hand out, and took her jersey from her.

* * *

"You can't be a god."

Yato let out a cry, slamming his hands on the tabletop of the booth. The salt and peppers shakers rattled at their place by the window—it was dark out, still snowing, too, she could see. "I so _am_." He looked at Hiyori from across the booth, pointing at Yukine. "Tell him that I _so_ am."

Kiyone blinked, letting out a laugh. She stirred her shake, looked down at her plate. (It had taken a lot of whining to get Yato to go to a diner—_the_ restaurant, really, where they had gone when _she_ had first become his Shinki—and spend the yen to eat, the cheapskate.) Then, she turned to Yukine, sitting beside her. "He kind of is." She conceded.

"'_Kind of_'?" Yato yelped. He threw his hands up in the air, then crossed them over his chest. "Betrayed by my two Shinki, my most loyal followers—" _and you're only, _Kiyone thought, "—Some 'loyal servants' you guys are." He muttered prissily, chin tilted up.

"'Servant'?" Yukine repeated disbelievingly. "We're your—servants?"

Kiyone shook her head quickly. "Not really," she told him hastily. "We're just—his right hand…spirits." She said awkwardly, then looked at Yato: "partners, right?"

Yato sniffed. "Not with _his_ attitude."

She rolled her eyes. "Ignore him," Kiyone told Yukine and smiled, bumping her shoulder with his. "It's what I usually do."

Yukine didn't grin back, though; instead, he looked down at his plate of fries. He'd eaten the burger, but not much else. He swallowed.

"Not hungry?" Kiyone asked worriedly, biting her lip. _What if he's sick? But, of course,_ she thought, _he's not going to feel well. He just— He was dead, sort of, and now he's back alive. It's—It's a lot to deal with._ She smiled at him and tried her best to make it encouraging.

"—He better be," Yato griped, leaning back in his seat, folding his arms behind his head. "After all the yen _I_ spent to get food on the table, and all because of _you_." He sniffed, pointing at Kiyone.

She pursed her lips, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, yes, the money _I_ helped you get."

Yukine blinked, glancing between her and Yato. "What?"

Kiyone turned to look at him. "I—well, _we_, now—go to jobs with Yato. We help take care of stuff—requests, sort of," she tried to explain.

"Like…?" Yukine asked.

She opened her mouth, but—

"—Catching lost pets, trimming hedges, cleaning bathrooms, fixing sinks," Yato listed off on a hand, counting on each finger, "oh, and ayakashi hunting," he added nonchalantly.

"_What_?" Yukine gawked, hands pressed against the tabletop, staring at him.

Yato looked back, eyebrow raised, like: _yeah, really_.

Then, her Shinki–partner—that _was_ what he was now, she guessed—looked at her. "He's serious." Yukine said, dumbly. "Yōkai. As in—"

"—bad spirits." Yato finished, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the tabletop. "The stuff of legends 'n' all that. Y'know, what hides under your bed, in your closet—the things your parents tell you 'bout to scare you shitless."

Kiyone frowned. "But they aren't _that _bad," she promised Yukine. "I've—_we've_—" she looked to Yato. "—purified a couple, and it wasn't so scary. After awhile, you get used to it. And even if you _are_ scared," she swallowed, leaning forward and looking at Yukine. "You have us, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah," Yato said, batting a hand, "togetherness and flowers and rainbows and everyone holding hands around the world and singing _Kumbaya_." He stood then and stretched, letting out a sigh. "While _you_ two are being all mushy–gushy, _I'm_ going to get the check so we can get outta here."

Kiyone watched him leave the booth, and though Yato had said it all so easily, she could see he was tired. She frowned, then looked at Yukine, who was watching Yato go, too.

"Is that guy _really_ a god?" He asked quietly.

"Yes," Kiyone said and added: "our partner, too. He might— He _can_ be an idiot, but he's pretty cool, too." She promised.

Yukine didn't say much—just looked over, to the other side of the restaurant.

She followed his line of sight and saw Yato at the register, arguing with a waitress—he was flailing his arms around, doing his best to be as annoying as he could, she bet.

Yukine gave her a look that said: _really?_

Kiyone sighed.

* * *

"You live in a _shrine_." Yukine stared up at Tenjin's temple.

"—_s_." Yato added, flopping down on one of the benches. (It was cold out, but, hey, it was better than sleeping in the street.) He folded his arms behind his head, eyes closed. The kid—Yukine—was quiet, except for when he was complaining. (_But, _Yato thought, _but—that's given, since—_ And his head rang with a few images: a man, a bottle, a room, and blood. He shook out of it, though.) "And parks, and bus stations."

"None of which are yours." Yukine said, scowling.

Yato opened an eye. "Who do I look like, Fukurokuju?" He snorted, (_I'm better looking than the wrinkled old bastard, anyway_). "'sides—it's only a matter of time." 'Til the shrines, the followers, the servants, the monuments and prayers by the hundreds. He'd be known by all, remembered by all. There'd be a plot for him up in the Heavens and a place for him here on Earth, too. A Near Shore and Far Shore deity.

"'Til _what?"_ Yukine frowned. "You get _mugged, _or die of starvation, or _hypothermia?"_ He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

"We'll get you new clothes tomorrow," Kiyone promised him, grabbing him by the elbow and leading him to the bench beside hers. She sat him down, hands on his shoulders, then took them off, patting them at her sides. She bit her lip.

_Nervous,_ Yato realized, then: _she's nervous around the lil' brat._

"From where? A homeless shelter?" Yukine muttered.

"Well…" Kiyone let out a nervous laugh.

"You're kidding." Yukine deadpanned, looking up at her.

Yato looked over at him. "Hey," he said, "don't knock it 'til you try it. It's how I got _my _clothes."

"I can see that." Yukine said.

_"Excuse me?!" _Yato yelped.

"_Yato_," Kiyone said, hands on her hips, giving him _The Look_.

"He started it." Yato cried, waving an arm at Yukine.

"And I'm finishing it." Kiyone said. "_Now_."

Yato scowled, turning over on his side and looking at the wall next to his bench. He thought, with about as much enthusiasm as a wet mop: _Aren't things off to a _great _start._

* * *

_A/N: ...And it's Yukine! I know he seems a little cold, (no pun intended), but he's still getting used to things, so, give him some time. (We all know Yato'll have to!)_

_Index_

**_Fukurokuju_**_ is the god of happiness, wealth, and longevity._

_Hope you liked it! Thanks for reading, (and, hopefully), reviewing!_


	9. Understanding

Disclaimer: I do not own _Noragami._

* * *

_Chapter 09:_

_Understanding_

* * *

"Hey—"

"…Hey."

"_Hey._" Something jabbed her ribs.

Kiyone let out a yelp, rolling and falling off of the bench. "_Ouch_." She rubbed at her head—turns out the ground _was_ harder—and started, in her best _you're–in–_such_–trouble_ tone, "Yato—" But when she looked up, it was Yukine. "Oh."

He stared at her awkwardly. "…Sorry," he said, frowning. "I don't— You were asleep, and I didn't know how to wake you up…" His stomach grumbled. Yukine rubbed at the back of his neck, looking away. "I— Well, I'm hungry." He said.

"Oh." Kiyone said again; then, she got to her feet, brushing off her pants. "If—If you needed food, you could ask Yato—he has the money—"

"—He's not here." Yukine said. He looked over to the bench—and he was right, Kiyone saw: Yato _wasn't_ there.

She frowned. "That's—That's weird…" Then, she shook her head and smiled. "But I'm sure he'll be back." She promised, sitting down on the bench. Kiyone patted the spot beside her. "You can sit with me, if you want…? We can wait."

Yukine looked at her, frowning. (He did that a lot, she noticed—it had only been a few days, though, since he'd joined them; so, she figured it was normal—well, as normal as it _could _be.) Then, he sat down beside her, hands in his sweatshirt pockets.

It was quiet—still morning; but all the early traffic had disappeared. Kiyone tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, her ponytail pulling. Then, she glanced over at Yukine.

It struck her how young he was—but, then again, she probably wasn't much older than him. Still, Yukine… He seemed like such a kid; probably in middle–school… She wondered what had happened to him—asking him wouldn't do much, though, since he couldn't remember. It would probably only make him unhappy.

But Yukine didn't seem very happy, anyways. He kept to himself, most of the time—but any time he _did_ say something, it was generally to get Yato angry, (which worked). He seemed pretty apathetic about being a Shinki…

Kiyone didn't think that was possible, though. Being indifferent about being, well, _dead_—it was impossible. She thought about her old life a lot; didn't remember it, but wanted to. Being a Shinki…it was being a whole other person, but not knowing who you were to begin with. Being shoved into a new life and not knowing anything about it… It was scary, confusing, and so _frustrating_—

"—one. _Kiyone_."

She blinked, looking over at Yukine; he was leaning, staring at her. "I—yes?"

He frowned. "You were spacing out." He told her. "I was asking you a question."

"Oh," Kiyone said, then: "sorry." She shifted. "What was the question?"

Yukine frowned, looking at the bench opposite them—it was empty, still, and strange to see it like that. Usually, Yato was snoring and drooling on himself. Now…empty. "Does he— Does he do this often?" He asked, looking down at his shoes. (The sneakers were a little too big for him—they would have to get him another pair, eventually, since there was no point in keeping shoes that didn't fit. "It's not like I'll grow into them," Yukine had said, staring at them.)

"Do what often?" Kiyone asked, eyebrows furrowing.

"Take off." Yukine said.

"I—" Kiyone blinked, then looked down at her hands in her lap. "—Not really." She said. "Just—sometimes. But not for long; only a few hours."

"Where does he go?" Yukine asked, "I mean, it's not like he can go to a job without us."

Kiyone frowned. "He—" Then, she paused. She didn't…really know. She had always thought that he was off riding subways, spray–painting windows or walls, but… Usually, he'd drag her along, too. So, where _did_ he go? "I—I'm not…sure…" She blinked.

Yukine raised an eyebrow, before letting out a huff, leaning back against the bench. "You didn't know much about him, do you?" He asked, looking up at the rafters of Tenjin's shrine.

"I—" Kiyone tried, but couldn't really argue. She— Well, she _didn't_. She tried to think back to a time when Yato had told her about his past—nothing. There was that girl—the Stray—and the 'others', but that was it. She wondered what _anyone_ knew about Yato. He didn't have a shrine… Didn't have any followers, really… He was a no–name. A mystery, too.

Yato had always been like that, ever since she'd met him, though. He was loud, obnoxious, annoying…but she had never really heard him say anything _important_ about something. Yes, he'd told her about the other Shinki, but that had only been after a lot of prying, fighting, and surprises. It had also taken a lot of effort just to get him to talk about the rules for _being_ a Shinki.

Yato—Yato hadn't really _told_ her anything.

Kiyone bit her lip. _I'm not being fair,_ she thought. Yes, Yato hadn't been very forthcoming with information—about anything, really. But still… He had helped her—given her food, clothes, a place to live, (granted, it wasn't _his_ place), and a friend. A place to belong. Hadn't he _earned_ her trust?

_But you're not mistrusting him—you're just…curious._ Kiyone paused. Well…that was true. So, then, it wouldn't hurt to ask him, would it? What was the _worst_ that could happen—have him say: 'buzz off'? That wasn't anything to be scared about.

She looked over at Yukine. She wondered how _he_ felt about Yato—he'd been pretty chilly to him, (no pun intended), lately; but Kiyone figured that came with the 'new Shinki' territory. Really, she was still a new Shinki herself, too. Still, it _was_ strange to be so cool about it… _But…_ she frowned; _he's probably just sorting through a lot…_

Kiyone bit her lip. "Hey," she said, leaning over—she reached out a hand and gripped one of his; it was cold.

Yukine blinked, staring at her—he looked like an owl; so surprised. "I—uh—well, um—yeah—?" He swallowed.

"Even if— …Yato can be…hard to deal with," she said, carefully. "I—I know that. Still…he's—he's not so bad, once you get to know him. And if you are having trouble with him—with it all…" She swallowed, then looked at him firmly. "You can always talk to me, okay?"

He stared at her. Yukine blinked.

"Okay?" She pressed.

He swallowed, looking at her, then away. He pulled his hand back, rubbing at it. "I—okay." Yukine muttered quickly—almost…_embarrassedly._

Kiyone pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to hide her smile.

"What?" Yukine asked, looking at her; he was still holding his hand. His face looked a little pinker.

She grinned.

"_What?_"

"—What'd you do _now?"_

Kiyone looked over—Yukine did, too—and blinked. "Yato—!" She smiled.

He grinned, sashaying up to them.

"Where were you?" Yukine asked, doubtfully.

"_I_ was getting us work," Yato said prissily, chin tilted up. He had his hands on his hips.

"Really?" Kiyone asked.

Yukine looked at him skeptically.

"_Really_, ye of little faith," he said. Then, he looked at them and grinned. "_We_ have a _job_."

* * *

"Get _off_ of me," Yato groaned.

Yukine grunted—he realized that, amidst teleporting, (or…whatever it was that Yato did—he wasn't sure), they'd all managed to pile on top of each other; with him sandwiched in the middle. He let out a grunt.

"Sorry," Kiyone said, rolling to her knees; then getting to her feet.

Yukine followed suit; his leg slipped, though, and he managed to stick Yato where—well, even guy _gods_ didn't like to be hit.

"Ow—don't _knee there—_!" Yato cried, hunched over with his hands between his legs.

"Oops." Yukine said, pitilessly, getting to his feet. He brushed off his pants, then fixed his hat, (Kiyone had gotten it for him at the shelter; it was better than the sneakers). And while Yato bitched and pitched a fit—what he usually did, Yukine had already figured out—he looked at what was probably one of the biggest shrines he had ever seen. (But, that didn't say much, considering he couldn't remember what shrines he _had_ been to…) It was beautiful, too—amazing wooden beams, a curved slated roof, and golden embellishments. Not to mention the _huge_ plum trees around it.

"So pretty…" Kiyone breathed, in front of him, before turning back to look at Yato, (who was still wheezing on the ground). "Where _are_ we?"

Yato opened his mouth, (probably to cuss), but—

"—What the—?" Yukine turned, looking over towards the fence—he could see…a _person_? "Who's there?" He asked, looking back at Yato and Kiyone, pointing.

Kiyone looked, too. "There are others…" She said and Yukine saw that there were—all surrounding them. "Ya—Yato—?" She asked, nervously.

He was up on his feet, (for once). "Were they fucking around with their request?" He muttered, glancing around.

Yukine sucked in a breath of air. "What should—"

"—'When the east wind blows," there was a _gong—_Yukine turned, looking around. _What the hell—?_

"—flourish in full bloom, you, plum blossoms!"

Then, Yukine watched as the bear trees next to the shrine budded with pink. _Plum blossoms? _He stared. _How is that even—?_

"Even though you lose your master, don't be oblivious to spring."

Turning, Yukine stared—a man was coming down the steps of the shrine, in old–fashioned red and black robes, pipe in hand. He looked old—perhaps in his seventies or eighties, but walked with ease. Around him, pink petals swirled, like they were following his lead.

Yukine blinked. _Who—?_

"Tha—That's a poem by Michizane Sugawara—!" Kiyone said to him and Yato, excitedly. She pointed at the man. "—C—Could it be—?"

Yukine blinked. _A famous person?_

The man looked at her, smiling animatedly. "Oh—you know of me?"

"_Yes!"_ Kiyone cried, rushing forward; her hands were clasped together.

Yukine mimicked her and they nearly fell over each other to kneel in front of the man—the _god_. _Tenjin,_ Yukine realized, belatedly. He couldn't remember where he'd heard the name from, before—but wait, yes, he could. It was the god they freeloaded off of.

"Oh," he chuckled. "You little devils know this fine old poem well?"

"Of course—it's so famous!" Kiyone cried, starry–eyed.

"Really," Yukine said absently, staring at the god, (_such an aura,_ he thought). "Even I've heard of it, I think."

"Who hasn't!" Kiyone exclaimed, hands clasped in front of her.

"Is that so?" Tenjin wondered. Then, he looked over them—towards Yato, who, Yukine realized, was sulking meters away. He cocked his head. "Yato-kun," _'-kun?' _Yukine thought, "who are these two children?"

Yato, still pouting, rubbed at his head. "That one's—" he pointed to Kiyone, "—name is 'Sei', her vessel is 'Seiki'. Given name's 'Kiyone'. _That_ one's," Yato waved at Yukine, "name is 'Yuki', his vessel is 'Sekki'. Given name's 'Yukine'."

Yukine scowled—Yato made it sounded like they were livestock.

"Oh, two?" Tenjin murmured, raising an eyebrow. He looked at Yato pointedly—who just avoided his gaze. Then, Tenjin turned back to the two of them. "Yukine-kun, Kiyone-chan—you're both Shinki, aren't you?" He shook his head. "Shinkis need not bow to me. —Tsuyu," he called, looking over his shoulder.

Yukine followed his gaze and saw that the people he had seen before had gotten closer—all were girls, shrine maidens, really. One—Tsuyu, he guessed—stepped forward. She had long hair, like Kiyone's, with sharp bangs and five marks on her forehead. _Like a flower,_ Yukine thought.

"Listen, young ones," she said, not bossily, but knowingly. "You should be careful to remember that bowing to another god while before the god you serve, shows a lack of respect." Then, she added with a smile: "Though, that may be impossible to remember in the company of Michizane-kō."

_Don't worry,_ Yukine wanted to say: _I don't respect my god anyway._

"Amazing!" Kiyone exclaimed. "Of course, this place is filled with priestesses!"

"Well," Tenjin said. "Not quite. All of those girls are my Shinki. Raising them was quite a feat," he admitted.

_So different from the _real_ thing,_ Yukine thought, looking back at Yato.

—Who was sulking. _Of course._ "Do you have a job for me or not?" Yato demanded, arms crossed over his chest—he acted proud, but pouted.

"Yes!" Tenjin said, raising his pipe. "You see, I'm rather busy now—that's because it's exam season, yes? But _you_ have absolutely nothing to do." Yukine couldn't tell if he was joking or not—probably not, though, since he was pretty right. "Help me out!"

Yato grit his teeth—Yukine wondered how much he would sell his pride for._ He's stubborn, _he thought.

"You know you stayed at my shrine, right?" Tenjin reminded him. Then, he added, happily: "Listen: you can enter any of the shrines dedicated to me," _he's just like a branch manager,_ Yukine thought, "_but_," Tenjin added, "you actually want your own shrine, yes? If so, then here!" He held out a shining, five–yen coin.

_No way…_ Yukine thought, looking at Yato. _He wouldn't—_

Yato grabbed the coin, stuffing it in his pocket.

_I take it back, _Yukine thought. _He's just cheap._

"There's a disparity of wealth even on the divine level," Kiyone murmured to Yukine.

He nodded, muttering back: "That's why the world's so unjust."

Tenjin looked at Yato, letting out an amused sigh. "Well then, please guide them—Makoto." Suddenly, the pipe in his hand began to swirl with smoke and a burst of light.

"You know, Kō," The girl—Tsuyu—remarked: "It has only been a little while since Mayu came here. Perhaps she _should_ lead the others…"

"My thoughts exactly," Tenjin remarked.

Yato, meanwhile, was nibbling on his coin.

_Weirdo…_ Yukine thought, but found his eyes going elsewhere as the pipe turned into light, and the light transformed into a—a _girl_.

"After all," Tenjin said, with a smile and a wink, "Mayu knows Yato-kun very well."

Yato, Yukine saw, looked like he was having an aneurism. "To—_Tomone?!"_

* * *

"I was Yato-san's Shinki before." Mayu explained, smiling, as they walked across the bridge. Her red robes swished around her feet by her sandals, while her white sleeves flapped in the breeze.

Kiyone looked at her, blinking. "R—Really?" She said, biting her lip and looking down at her sneakers as they walked.

_What's up with her? _Yukine wondered, looked between them. "How're the jobs now?" He asked, then: "You have all the necessities of life?"

"Yep," Mayu said, perkily. "Everything's _much_ better now. I have the good fortune to never have to ask for anything."

_Of course,_ Yukine and Kiyone sulked.

Yato—who'd chosen to pout, walking on the other side of the bridge—let out a groan. "At least stand up for your former master a _little_… Such rumors can ruin a god." He muttered.

_What do you have to ruin? _Yukine thought.

"Up until now," Mayu ignored him, "I've been a Shinki for quite a lot of different people." She explained, then, looked back at Yato. "_He_ was by far the worst." She looked at Kiyone and Yukine and told them, honestly: "You should quit immediately."

"_Tomone!"_ Yato shouted.

"I'm Mayu now! Don't call me by my previous name—it's disgusting!" She yelled.

"You're always in pursuit of the money!"

"I'd go anywhere in the world if it was away from _you!_" Mayu argued.

Yukine watched the fight with raised eyebrows. "Oi," he looked at Kiyone. "Is she his ex-girlfriend or something?"

Kiyone looked at them exasperatedly, "Sounds about right to me."

* * *

The train was going by quickly and loudly, the tracks shaking and _clacking_.

Mayu stood meters away, her hair blowing in the wind. She looked sad. "It was suicide," she said, adding: "a few days ago, we took notice of a piece of writing that had been placed as an offering by a student." She bit her lip. "When we looked into it, we found this…" She stared at the flowers piled by the crossing marker.

Kiyone looked at them, too—they were new… _Like at the shopping district,_ she remembered. Then, she crouched down, reaching to touch one of the petals. The plastic wrap around the stems crinkled. Mayu said: "It appears that two people have already died…"

Kiyone sucked in a breath, looking over her shoulder—Yukine and Yato were standing a ways away. "Why would they do such a thing?" She asked.

Mayu looked at the flowers. "This area is going through a hard time and is full of evil spirits," she explained. "Michizane, whose heart was also in pain, raised a barrier here, but…" She bit her lip, frowning. "Since people with evil spirits still attached to them can still come and go, it's very difficult to perfectly purify the area…"

Kiyone watched as her eyes saddened.

"—Even though it was their precious life," Mayu murmured, "they wasted it…"

Swallowing, she looked at the flowers. Two people, both students… They might've been no older than her, or Yukine. _How awful…_ She bit her lip, standing; she turned to Mayu, her hands clasped. "But—if we defeat the ayakashi clinging to the people, it should be alright, right?"

"Yes!" Mayu agreed.

Yato, still standing apart, raised an eyebrow. His hands were shoved in his pockets. "Kiyone?"

She bit her lip, looking at him. "We have to help." She said, adding: "people are dying. Don't you feel like—like we have to do something?"

Yato stared at her. "No, I don't," he said, as the _clacking_ of the train continued. "People who want to die should just go ahead and do it."

"You never change—talking about that garbage!" Mayu yelled.

"But, Yato—" Kiyone bit her lip, looking at her hands. "—You—You shouldn't say that. There's a grieving family to think of, and…and once that person's life is lost, they can never get back what they had…" _I can never get back what I had,_ she thought.

Yato looked at the pavement without care. "The souls of those who commit suicide have already been possessed by evil spirits, so, they can't become Shinki." He explained. "This goes for those who are already dead and those that are still living." He paused, adding: "I have no intention of helping them."

Kiyone stared at them. She was getting that feeling again—that moment where Yato was close but felt so far away; when he started acting like a stranger. When he _felt_ like a stranger to her. "But you—we—" She swallowed, ignoring the blare of the train's horn. "That's our job. To help people. That's what we do." _How can you just ignore people dying?_ She wanted to shout. _How can you ignore people becoming lost spirits like I was?_

And, then: _Don't you care?_

He looked at her lazily. "Why are you getting so worked up?" He asked.

Mayu and Yukine watched the fight quietly.

She felt like he'd just slapped her. "I…" Kiyone shook her head. "You…" Then, she grit her teeth. _No, _she thought—_no, I won't let you do that. Just because you don't care doesn't mean that _I_ don't. And I—I—_ "—If you won't help, then _I _will." She declared.

Yato raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yes." She said, looking at him, her chin tilted up. Her hands were fisted at her sides. "I—I want to help these people."

Yato looked at her for a moment—she couldn't figure out what he was thinking. But then, he turned away, hands in his pockets, and started walking. "Alright," he said as the train finally went around the bend, the _clack_ of the tracks fading. "Then _go_."

* * *

Kiyone ran a hand through her hair, frizzing her ponytail.

_How could he?_ She thought. _How could he just—pass it off like it was nothing? Like peoples' _lives _were nothing? People like—like who _I_ once was, or Yukine, or Mayu. People with families and friends, who went to school and had jobs. How could he _not_ care?_

She let out a breath, looking around—she was in a neighborhood near the train tracks, subdivided houses piled next to each other. She hadn't really paid attention to where she was running to—anywhere away from Yato, really.

_Like what Mayu said…_ Kiyone thought and felt a twinge of—something. Not jealousy, or hatred, or anything like that—but…_something_. Tenjin's newest Shinki was friendly, but still… She was another secret that Yato had kept. She was a reminder that Yato had a whole life—or, in normal terms, _lives_—that she didn't know about.

_No,_ Kiyone thought, rubbing at her temples. She let out a breath as she paced on the sidewalk. _Don't think about that. Not now._ But Yato…

He could be so…so inconsiderate. And what was hardest was not knowing if it was just him being insensitive, or if he didn't really care. If lives didn't mean anything to him. (She remembered the way he had talked about the Stray, about Shinkis…)

If that was the case, then why did he even bother to save her? Because he needed a servant?

Kiyone shook her head. (She remembered the way he had told her, 'We're partners'; and the way he had brought Yukine back with them when she had asked. Yato had done a lot for her; so, shouldn't she trust him, then?)

Still, he could be so stubborn and confusing. Sometimes, she didn't know if she wanted to laugh at him or smack him.

Kiyone let out a sigh, looking up at the sky—blue. (_Like Yato's eyes,_ but she ignored that.) "He's such an idiot," she said aloud.

(At least she could agree on _that_.)

_You shouldn't think like that,_ said something. She sighed—that was right. She had to curb her feelings, her thoughts; thinking something bad, saying it… It would hurt Yato. (Being a Shinki, Kiyone realized, was probably one of the suckiest jobs in the world.) And, no matter what, she didn't want to do that.

Even if he was wrong.

_That's right, _Kiyone thought, biting her lip, her eyebrows furrowing. _Being a Shinki doesn't mean I can't do what _I_ think is right, or say it, or think it. I'm not hurting Yato by helping others. I—I'm doing what _I_ think is right. What I _know_ is right. _She squared her shoulders—the train station was just down the road. A fifteen-minute walk, if she hurried.

Kiyone stepped forward.

* * *

Yukine watched Yato walking down the curb. They were already twenty-minute's away from the train station. When they had left, Mayu had stayed; Kiyone wasn't around.

He looked at Yato. "Hey," Yukine said, stopping by a telephone pole. Traffic went by. "_Hey._"

Yato stopped, turning back at him. He had a hand on the back of his neck. "What?" He asked. He had that look in his eyes—like he was a stranger and didn't give a shit at all. Totally different from the idiot who'd been bitching at them this morning.

Yukine's lips were in a tight line. He shoved his hands into his sweatshirt pockets. "Shouldn't we go back for her?" He asked, wearily.

Looking at him, Yato asked: "Who, Tomone?" He snorted, looking out across the street. "She can take care of herself—or, Tenjin can, the old coot. Besides," he added, "she can handle the job on her own. Maybe she can kill the ayakashi with smoke inhalation, or something," and Yukine remembered her form, when she was called 'Makoto'.

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe," he said, then added: "But you still kept her money, didn't you?"

Yato blanched; he tilted his chin, looking away. "What's your point?" He muttered, sweating.

"That you're a crook," Yukine deadpanned. Then, he added: "And I was talking about Kiyone, by the way."

Yato looked at him hardly.

Yukine swallowed—embarrassedly—nose scrunched, and looked at a shop window. "What?" He said and decided that, no, he wasn't defending anything at all. "You're the one who left her behind—let her run off. Won't she get into trouble, or something?" He shifted awkwardly.

Yato was quiet for a moment—again, Yukine couldn't pin down what he was thinking. Then, he turned away, hands in his pockets. "She can handle herself—let her do what she wants," he said, then added: "Now, c'mon. I wanna go get some dango, and I think I saw a cart a few blocks down."

Yukine stood for a moment, watching Yato walk. Then, he sighed, and started walking. (He was hungry.)

* * *

"Ow." Kiyone mumbled, rubbing at her arm—jeez, people were pushy. She watched the man—some business guy—push through the crowds. He didn't turn around. _Why am I not surprised?_ She sighed, looking around her—people were gathering for the next train, which _should_ show up in… She checked the clock. _Five-minutes._

Nodding before pulling at the hem of her jersey, Kiyone looked around again. _Mayu said that this area was bad, but I don't see any… —_Then, something caught her eye. She blinked.

Crouched on top of a student, a purple blob sat—it looked like a ghost from those cheesy Halloween decorations that people from America always used combined with one of those octopus–shaped hotdogs that people packed in their bentōs.

Kiyone swallowed, moving a closer. She was sure it was a yōkai—but, looking around, no one else seemed to see it, (not even the boy). Then, she realized that they wouldn't—it was a Far Shore being, like her.

Still, despite the noise, she could hear it whining: _"I don't want to work ye~t… But even if I want to go to university, there's nothing I want to do~…"_

She looked at it—then, felt her fists clenched. _How do I…?_ She swallowed, looking around—no Yato, (of course). _How am I supposed to purify it without transforming…?_ Kiyone reached a hand up, pressing her fingers against the character on her chest. (Okay, so, maybe she hadn't really thought this through.)

_"Hey, nē~-chan, you smell ni~ce…"_

Kiyone felt herself freeze, eyes widening.

_"Smell ni~ce, nē~-chan…"_

Slowly, she turned, looking over her shoulder—then, up. A blob, a shade of purple, with green, rolling eyes, curled around the rafters of the train station. Then, others, peering out from the roofing—behind people, out of the grates on the floors.

(The train's intercom announced with static: "The 1:10 to Adachi will be passing through shortly. Please step behind the yellow line.")

How did she not notice before? Her fingers shook.

The ayakashi's head swiveled—like an owl's—and it slurred, _"You sme~ll nice, nē~-chan."_ And from behind it, the others echoed: _"Smells ni~ce,"_ and then: _"Co~me over here~, nē-chan…"_

Kiyone took a step back and almost tripped. When she looked down, she stared: another yōkai, like a yellow snake, was curled around her ankles. Then, she bit her lip, and kicked it off. "Get away—!" She shouted, ignoring the few people who glanced at her.

_"Nē~-chan, come he~re…"_ Suddenly, she felt a tugging at her arm; she looked and gawked at the ayakashi wrapped around her wrist.

"I— Get off—!" Then, another tug—at her waist, this time.

_"Come~ here~, nē-cha~n,"_ they said together.

"Ge—!" Then, she was dragged back and before she could blink, she was staring at the clear sky. She felt the pull and tug of so many ayakashi, wrapping around her, tying her down to the tracks. She could feel the ground against her back.

Kiyone heard, then, the oncoming rush of the train. Turning her head, she looked and saw the 1:10 to Adachi coming towards her.

_"Come with u~s, nē-cha~n…"_ The ayakashi said.

She opened her mouth—to scream, to say _anything_—and then, looked back at the station. Businesspeople, students, and everyday workers were waiting for the next train. No one was looking at her. Kiyone was about to scream when she felt one of the ayakashi wrap themselves around her mouth.

_"Do~n't wo~rry~… Joi~n us, nē~-cha~n…"_

Kiyone looked at the train, meters away—she would be run over, she would be killed—

"—_Seiki—!"_

* * *

_What is this?_ Yukine watched as Kiyone—or, Seiki, he guessed—flipped up from the train tracks in a burst of light, a golden sword slicing through ayakashi that had tied her down before sailing into Yato's right hand. (In his left was Yukine; well, sort of. It was hard to describe—being in–form was so…_weird_. Like being aware of yourself, but not in the normal, physical sense.)

"Yu—Yukine-kun—?"

He looked to his right and saw Kiyone crouched down; she looked pale and sweaty, like she had just woken up from a nightmare, (the kind he got from the dark). Her eyes were wide; he looked down and saw that her hands were shaking.

"H—Hey," he said awkwardly, "are you—y'know, okay?"

"I—" Kiyone swallowed. "I—I think so," and looked down at her hands.

_"That's all well 'n' good,"_ Yato's hollered, standing on the train's roof, (how did he even _do_ that?), _"but we kind of have to, y'know, do our _job_. So, focus, 'cause the real bitch's comin' up—!"_

Yukine looked—sort of—and saw the intersection coming up; the crossing sign was blaring red, ringing. Besides it was a boy—a student, probably—walking towards it. In front of him, on the tracks, was a giant speckled hand, the nails overgrown. It was like something out of a horror movie, (not that he could remember seeing any); it had just sprouted out of the ground, like a weed. "What's that—?"

_"Don't worry 'bout it!" _Yato shouted. _"Just get ready, both of you—!"_

Yukine glanced at Kiyone. He swallowed. He had never—well, killed an ayakashi. How did it even _work?_ What did you _do?_

She gave him a short smile. "Don't worry." She said, standing next to him. "It'll be fine. Just stay calm, alright? I'm right here with you."

Yato shouted, _"Nice and steady, Yukine, Kiyone—! Ready?!"_

"Ready—!" Kiyone nodded, eyes set firm.

Yukine swallowed, nodding.

Then, Yato jumped off of the train—Yukine felt like he was really going to hurl from the lurching—and brought down both of them, Seiki and Sekki, on top of the ayakashi. Yukine felt the tension as he sliced through phantom skin, cutting deep—

_"Yukine, that's enough, turn back—!"_ Yato shouted. _"You're cutting too deep!"_

"Yukine!" Kiyone looked at him, tugging on his shoulder.

Stepping back, Yukine watched as the ayakashi disappeared in a burst of light so bright that his eyes burned—he turned away.

Yato, quick as a flash, jumped back onto the train roof. He looked back at the station, before calling: "Seiki, Sekki."

Then, Yukine felt—light. It was hard to describe; but, one second he was a sword and the next a boy. He looked beside him and saw Kiyone; she turned to him, smiling shortly, (but she _was _shaking). Yato was crouched between them, hunched.

Shivering—_shit, _it was cold; the wind chill must've taken off ten degrees from the temperature—Yukine asked, looking back at the intersection and the boy: "What? The job is over already?" He glanced at Yato, then, at Kiyone. "Finish it! Death is still death, after all."

Yato looked at him, mouth set in a line. "Yukine," he said, hardly. "You don't have to save him."

Yukine stared at him, then turned away. He let out a snort and shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers trembling.

* * *

When they got off at the next stop, Kiyone's legs were shaking so much that she almost fell over. She hopped off of the train roof, climbing off of the tracks and heading with Yato and Yukine through the crowds. She looked down at her hands—they were still quivering. She balled them into fists.

_Don't do that,_ Kiyone thought, chiding herself lightly. _It's ridiculous to be afraid of death when you're already—well, dead._ She felt her eyes burn, just a bit. She shut them tightly. _Don't_.

"Kiyone—?"

She opened her eyes, looking at Yato.

He glanced at her, over his shoulder, his hands in his pockets. "You okay?"

"I—" She stared. _I thought I was going to—to die, again and—_

And, then, she realized, shockingly, as she looked at him: _I—I misunderstood him._

Being a Shinki—she had died, already. Yukine, Mayu, and that Stray girl—all of them had died when they were young. And because—because people who committed suicide couldn't _become_ Shinki, it meant that all of them, herself included, were people who had _wanted_ to live.

_(People who die should just go ahead and do it. _Yato said.

And Mayu: _Even though it was their precious life, they wasted it.)_

In front of people who had decided to die and those who wanted to—when she hadn't; when Yukine and Mayu hadn't—Yato probably hadn't been able to forgive those who had wasted their lives. He hadn't, for his Shinkis sake.

She swallowed thickly, feeling her eyes burn.

"—Kiyone?"

Then, she looked up. Yato was turned, now, an eyebrow raised. Yukine was looking at her, too, eyebrows furrowed.

"You okay?" Yato asked again.

_We're partners,_ Kiyone remembered. Then, she blinked, rubbing at her eyes with her sleeve and smiling, stepping forward. "Yes," she said, walking to them, "Yes, I'm fine, now." And she looked at Yato, adding: "Thank you."

He blinked. "For what?"

She shook her head, smiling, "Never mind. Just—thanks."

Yato rolled his eyes. "You're weird." He said.

Yukine snorted, walking beside them, hands in his pockets. "Better than you and your sweaty hands."

_"Excuse me?!"_

* * *

_A/N: Okay, so, this is really late. Sorry! But, to make up for it, it's super long, so, yeah. Hope you like it!_

_Index_

**_Dango_**_ are sweet dumplings. (Everyone likes them!)_

_**Bentō** are boxed lunches. (Everyone eats them.)_

_**Adachi** is a special ward in Tōkyō. (I chose it as a reference to the author of 'Noragami'; Adachitoka.)_

_**Yushima Tenman-gū** is Tenjin's shrine; i.e., where Yato, Kiyone, and Yukine visited him. It isn't the one that they stay at, though._

_Reviews?_


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